


Against All Odds

by JustSomeStranger



Series: Perfectly Imperfect [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Ableist Language, Angst and Humor, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cancer, Cancer Arc, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Medical Conditions, Medical Jargon, Medical Procedures, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Post Mpreg, Torture, multiple myeloma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-12
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2020-08-23 20:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 43,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20215954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustSomeStranger/pseuds/JustSomeStranger
Summary: Junkrat goes to Mercy, complaining about aches and pains. Only to be told it's something far worse.





	1. Well This Sucks

“Hello! Jamison, Mako, please sit down,” Mercy greeted Junkrat and Roadhog, gesturing to two chairs in front of her desk.

There was a hint of unease in her voice that didn’t go unnoticed by Roadhog.

“G’day, Doc!” said Junkrat, rather chipper. “Ya found out what’s wrong with-“

Junkrat grimaced, placing a hand to his back as he sat down. Roadhog and Mercy watched as Junkrat rubbed the base of his spine. Hog then took his place next to him, setting his cane and oxygen machine aside.

“Ya got any good painkillers, Doc?“ Rat asked. “Me back’s been killing me for days!”

“Have the one’s I’ve given you not worked?” said Mercy.

“They’re fucking useless,” answered Junkrat. “Barely takes the edge off.”

“Well,” said Mercy. “I’ll prescribe something more effective as soon as we have discussed the results of your screening.”

Junkrat huffed in agitation.

“But before we do,” Mercy continued, ignoring Rat’s impatience. “I would first like to ask, how are you, Jamison? Has anything been bothering you as of late?”

“Yeah, him,” Junkrat gestured at Roadhog, who rolled his eyes behind his mask.

Mercy chuckled.

“No. I mean, you mentioned you were in pain,” she said. “Has there been anything else that’s been ailing you?”

“Everything hurts, Doc,” Junkrat moaned. “Me hips, me stomach, and me back especially. There’s this weird feeling in me hand and foot. And I keep needing to piss a lot. Gets annoying when it’s nighttime and yer trying ta sleep.”

“What kind of feeling?” Asked Mercy. “Is it a tingly feeling, a numb feeling, or is it a sharp burning or stabbing feeling?”

Junkrat thought for a moment.

“Er… all of them, I think. But mostly the first two.”

“And how is your sleep?” Mercy asked.

“I’m tired all the time, Doc,” said Junkrat. “Even when I sleep right, it’s never enough. I just can’t stay awake long enough. Doesn’t help that I can’t kick this fucking cold neither.”

Junkrat proceeded to wipe his nose on the back of his hand.

“And how has this affected you?” asked Mercy, remaining professional.

“Well, apart from not being allowed to go on missions unless I saw your sorry arse,” Junkrat grumbled. “I haven’t been able to blow shit up lately either. Hurts me back too much. It’s also been harder to take care of me girl’s needs as well. Especially Trinket.”

“Okay,” Mercy said. “And… before I tell you the outcome of the screening, I must ask, how would you like me to tell you the results?”

An odd question to ask, Roadhog thought.

“Just tell me straight, Doc,” said Junkrat, oblivious to the tone of Mercy’s voice.

“Okay,” Mercy began. “I went over the results of the blood and urine tests, the x-rays, and the bone marrow biopsy several times just to be sure… and I’m afraid it’s not good news.“

“Out with it then, Doc!” exclaimed Junkrat. “Yer suspense is killing me!”

Mercy sighed and braced herself.

“I’m sorry, Jamison. But I’m afraid… you have a type of cancer called Multiple Myeloma.“

Junkrat stared on in stunned silence, trying to process what he had just heard. Cancer. He had cancer. How? Well, it wasn’t exactly a mystery. Being exposed to radiation hadn’t done him any wonders.

“I can tell this is probably a huge shock for you,“ Mercy said, bringing Rat out of his stupor. “If you need to have a minute I-“

Junkrat burst into laughter, catching Mercy and Roadhog off guard. They both glanced at each other, unsure of Rat’s reaction.

“W-what ya talking about, Doc? It’s just cancer! No big deal. People get cancer all the time in Junkertown,” Junkrat said, his voice quivering. “I-I mean… sure, they die. But we all die, right?”

Mercy wasn’t quite sure what to say to that. Or if she should say anything at all. Probably best not. Having known him for twenty years now, it was clear to her that Rat was putting on a front, and any attempt to challenge it would only make him shut her out.

“Um… okay then,” said Mercy, changing the subject. “Do either of you have any questions you’d like to ask?”

“How bad is it?” Roadhog asked, sternly.

”Given the high levels of proteins, creatinine, and calcium in the blood. As well as extensive damage to the kidneys and affected bones, I would say that the Myeloma is in the advanced stages,” Mercy said.

Roadhog sighed, lowering his head.

“Any other questions?” asked Mercy.

“How long have I got?” said Junkrat.

“Well, if left untreated, the Myeloma will continue to spread and cause further complications that will impact on your quality of life,” said Mercy, matter-of-factly. “_But_… if you choose treatment, you could live for many months, years, decades even!”

“Ya mean, there’s a cure?” Junkrat asked, hopefully.

“Even with all the advances to modern medicine, I cannot make such guarantees,” said Mercy.

Junkrat folded his arms and huffed.

“But,” she continued. “Most cancer patients who undergo treatment, tend to make a full recovery.”

“What happens now then?” asked Roadhog, his voice sounding more lively.

“That all depends on Jamison,” Mercy answered. “Should you choose the treatment route, Jamison.”

Junkrat looked up from his fidget toy.

“Then I will have you referred to a team of doctors who specialise in blood and cancer treatment, who will likely recommend some form of immunotherapy.”

“And If I don’t want treatment?” Junkrat challenged.

“Should you choose to go down the palliative care route,” Mercy continued. “Then I will put you in touch with various charities and hospices. They will make you as comfortable as possible, and look after you when you can no longer care for yourself.”

“If I ever get to that stage, just stick a bullet in me brain,” said Junkrat.

Mercy gave a nervous cough at that remark.

“Either way, Jamison” she cooed. “Whatever you choose, just know that I will be here to support you and your family through this. You don’t have to face this alone.”

Junkrat snorted.

“You should know me better by now, Doc,” he scoffed. ”I don’t need no one’s ‘help and support’. I ain’t some kid who needs its hand held and shit.”

“In that case,” said Mercy, getting up from her seat. “Would you and Mako like to go over your options while I take an important call then?”

“Off ya pop then,” Rat chaffed.

And with that, Mercy left.

Once gone, Roadhog turned to face Junkrat.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Fine – I’m fine,” Rat quavered, his demeanor beginning to slip. “I mean, so what if I have cancer? ‘S not like I planned on living to a hundred anyway!”

Hearing how scared Junkrat sounded, Roadhog didn’t press him.

“What do you wanna do about it?” Hog simply asked.

Junkrat thought about the question for a moment, going over the options in his head. Junkrat didn’t like doctors. Didn’t like them at all. The thought of putting his life in a stranger’s hands was a terrifying prospect in of itself. But it didn’t compare to something as slow, painful, and inevitable as dying of cancer. Everyone in Junkertown knew that any lump or bump, ache or pain, weird growth or spot was a potential death sentence. It would strike anyone. Even the strongest of Junkers. Reducing them to a living corpse, before eventually killing them. Their agonised screams ringing out through the night as they lay dying. With that in mind, Junkrat came to the obvious conclusion.

“I think I’ll have the treatment,” he said.

…

Outside, Mercy opened her tablet and allowed Athena to finally speak.

“**You took your time**,” was the first thing the AI said.

“Have some decency!” hissed Mercy. “I’ve just had to diagnose someone with cancer.”

“**My apologies**,” said Athena. “**But I have received an urgent message from the Government of Western Australia**.”

“What is it?” Mercy sighed.

“**The message reads as follows: Gang of Junkers attacked & raided town of Kalgoorlie, WA & Kambalda East, WA. Casualties confirmed. Many severely injured. Urgent medical assistance required. Junkers last sighted on outskirts of Norseman, WA heading south towards Esperance, WA. Send urgent reinforcements**.”

Mercy let out another sigh. This was the second mission she had been called to that day.

“I suppose I better get ready then,” she said, heading to change into her gear.


	2. I Don't Need To Tell You

Mykie swung her fists at Tracer, who effortlessly dodged her attack. Mykie tried to land another blow, which Tracer caught mid swing. In desperation, Mykie spun round and attempted to elbow Tracer in the chest. When this failed, Mykie growled in frustration and moved to kick Tracer in the shin, only for Tracer to trip her up and send Mykie crashing to the ground. She looked up and saw Tracer offer up her hand to her. Mykie declined, picking herself up and dusting herself off furiously. A single clap could be heard from the far side of the gym where Trinket sat watching. Mykie huffed and turned to Tracer.

“I sucked, didn’t I,” she grumbled.

“You’re getting better,” Tracer reassured her. “But you still need to be less predictable, and be a bit more self disciplined.”

Mykie sighed, looking down.

“Hey!” Tracer said, putting her hand on Mykie’s shoulder. “You’ll get there. You just need to practice more.”

But she _had_ been practicing, Mykie wanted to say.

“Yeah, I know,” was all that came out. “Again?”

“If you insist!” said Tracer.

Once again, the two women began sparring with one another.

Trinket watched on as her younger sister made another valiant effort to avoid having her butt kicked by Tracer. As usual, she wasn’t having any luck. Trinket then heard the gym doors slide open and saw her dads enter. Upon seeing her, Junkrat made a beeline towards her. Roadhog on the other hand hobbled behind at a slower pace, leaning on his cane and towing his oxygen machine behind him. The simple act of walking causing him to huff and wheeze like he was carrying the whole of Overwatch on his back.

“Trinket!” Junkrat embraced his eldest daughter.

“Hi Dad,” Trinket greeted Junkrat.

She then turned to greet Roadhog, who was still catching his breath.

“Hi papa.”

“How’s me two favourite girls doing?” Junkrat asked, enthusiastically.

Trinket gave him the thumbs up.

“Ah, good!” he said, giving Trinket a high five.

He then turned towards the boxing ring where Tracer and Mykie were.

“Come on, Mykie! Kick her arse!” Rat shouted in encouragement.

Mykie swung again… and missed again.

“Yeah!” he cheered. “That’s me girl!”

Suddenly, Junkrat groaned placing a hand to his back.

Mykie forgot she was fighting and watched as she saw her Dad’s face contorted in obvious pain. Something she wasn’t used to seeing from either of her fathers. That was when she felt a leg lock with hers and once again, Mykie found herself on the floor.

Trinket gave another round of applause.

Once again, Tracer held out her hand. This time, Mykie reluctantly took it.

“You got a bit distracted there, love,” said Tracer. “You reckon we’re done for today?”

Mykie nodded.

The rest of the family looked up from Junkrat, seeing Tracer and Mykie approach them. Rat’s eyes widened when he saw how bruised and battered his younger daughter was.

“Oi! What’s this? What have ya done to her, pom?” he demanded.

“Nice to see you too, Jamie,” Tracer snarked in jest.

“_Dad!_” exclaimed Mykie, mortified.

“What?” said Junkrat. “No daughter of mine’s getting beat up without me kicking the cunt’s teeth in!”

Tracer folded her arms in annoyance, but said nothing.

“So, how did the appointment go?” asked Mykie, desperate to change the subject.

Junkrat immediately went quiet.

“Er… Y-you say something, love?” he said, feigning ignorance.

“The appointment?” Mykie repeated.

“Oh, that!” replied Junkrat, sheepishly. “W-what about it?”

“Did Mercy find out what’s wrong with you?” she pressed.

Before Rat could come up with an excuse not to answer, Roadhog stepped forward.

“Not here,” he commanded in a tone that stated quite clearly, no more questions.

Knowing there was no point arguing, Mykie stopped talking. When her Papa told you to do something, you did it and you did it there and then. But still, Mykie couldn’t help but wonder why the outcome of the appointment was so private. And why her Dad was acting strange. What the hell was going on? This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

…

Once the whole family had entered their mess of an apartment, Mykie turned and faced her fathers.

“Okay, What is it? What’s wrong, Dad?” she demanded.

Trinket watched on, confused as to why her sister was being so snappy with their Dad.

“What ya talking about, love?” asked Junkrat, floundering with his words. “Nothing’s wrong.”

“Bullshit!” said Mykie. “You’ve been acting weird since I asked about it. What’s wrong, Dad? C’mon, you’re scaring me!”

“Oh, _you’re_ scared,” Junkrat sneered. “Not like you’re the one who’s got cancer-“

Rat‘s hands flew to his mouth.

The room fell silent.

Mykie stood like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

“What?” she finally said, not believing what she had just heard.

“N-nothing!” Junkrat lied.

“Is this true?” Mykie asked, turning to Roadhog.

Roadhog nodded.

“How bad is it?” Mykie enquired.

“Very,” Hog answered.

“Oi!” Junkrat barked. “I’m right here Y’know!”

Mykie turned back to Junkrat.

“When were ya gonna tell us?” she demanded.

“I was gonna tell ya… eventually,” he added.

“I don’t believe you,” Mykie said, folding her arms.

“Well I don’t have to tell ya everything, do I!” Rat snapped.

“But ya should have told us about this!”

“Please, stop fighting!” Trinket pleaded.

Everyone stopped and turned towards her. Trinket held her hands towards her chest.

“Why are you fighting?” she asked, avoiding eye contact.

That was when everyone realised that Trinket had been kept completely out of the loop. Everyone had been so caught up in their own emotions, that no one had taken the time to explain to her what was going on.

“Trinket,” Roadhog spoke in a soft tone that he only reserved for her. “Your Dad is sick.”

“Sick?” Trinket echoed.

“Yes,” said Hog.

“He has a sickness called cancer,” conveyed Mykie.

“Could I catch it?” asked Trinket.

“No,” Roadhog stated.

“No, it’s not that kind off illness,” said Mykie. “But it is treatable, right?”

She looked to Junkrat.

“Um, yeah!” said Junkrat. “Yeah. The Doc said… what did she say? Oh yeah! She said that I can have treatment and make a full recovery!”

“So… you’re gonna get better?” asked Mykie, hopeful.

“Of course I’ll get better!” exclaimed Junkrat. “There’s still life in this old dog yet!”

“So everything’s gonna be alright?” Trinket pleaded.

“Come here,” Junkrat brought his two daughters into a hug. “You have me word, loves. She’ll be right.”

…

“What do you mean this is all there is?” Mercy yelled at the video call. “This isn’t nearly enough money for Mr. Fawkes’ treatment!”

“I understand your frustrations, Dr. Ziegler,” the man on the other side of video call said. “But this was all the UN Security Council was prepared to allocate.”

“And how am I supposed to treat Mr. Fawkes on such a shoestring budget?” she demanded.

“Er… well?” the man scratched his balding head, timidly. “You could try chemotherapy.”

Mercy stared at him, dumbfounded.

“Chemotherapy?” she exclaimed. “That’s outrageous! Do you want me to bleed him, or use leeches on him too? Chemotherapy hasn’t been used since the early twenty thirties! It’s risky, archaic, barbaric, it’s literally poison! How could you suggest such a thing?”

“I know, I’m sorry,” the man apologised. “Believe me, I’ve tried everything. But most members of the UN Security Council aren’t sympathetic to Mr. Fawkes’ plight, and therefore don’t see it as high priority. Not least because he’s still a wanted man in many countries, and has yet to face justice for his crimes.”

“I know,” said Mercy.

“I have also been instructed to tell you, that Overwatch is already on thin ice,” the man explained. “Not just because you have many wanted criminals in your ranks, but also because your existence directly violates the Petras Act, which still stands. And while we _are_ grateful that you defeated Talon, you’re still a blight on the UN’s reputation. As such, you need to prove that you’re worth keeping around.”

“Understood,” Mercy sighed.

“Again, I’m sorry,” the man said. “Especially for his children. I know all too well what it’s like, seeing family members go though something like that.“

“You do?” Mercy inquired.

“Yes,” the man confirmed. “I lost many family members to it long ago. It’s nasty.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Mercy.

“It’s okay,” he said. “Treatments are so good and kind nowadays. People often forget how awful it all used to be.”

Mercy felt a wave of guilt wash over her. How had she not realised, that the man on the other end of the video call was likely just as stressed out as she was? Yet he was the one remaining calm and professional. And here she was, yelling at him as if the lack of funding was his fault. The pressure of the whole thing must be getting to her, Mercy thought.

“Anyway,” the man said, bringing Mercy out of her head. “I’m needed elsewhere. My regards to Mr. Fawkes. And good luck. I hope you can do everything you can to cure him.”

“Thank you,” Mercy said. “Mr. …?”

“Charles,” he said. “Brendon Charles.”

“Thank you, Brendon,” said Mercy.

The video call ended.

Defeated, Mercy buried her head in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like getting the right treatment for Junkrat won't be as straight forwards as Mercy thought it would be.


	3. I Shook My Family Tree And A Bunch Of Nuts Fell Out

The next day, Mercy called the entire family into a meeting.

“It’s nice to have you all here,” Mercy greeted the family. “How is everyone?”

“Alright, I guess,” Mykie muttered, avoiding eye contact.

“What about you, Jamison?” asked Mercy. “How have you been feeling since we last talked?”

“Considering I have cancer, take a wild guess,” Junkrat snarked.

Mercy scowled at Rat, wishing to verbally chew him out at that remark. But knowing this was just Rat’s way of trying to cope with the situation, she held her tongue.

“Okay!” Mercy said, moving on. “I assume you’re wondering why I’ve called you all here.”

“Yeah, pretty much,” answered Junkrat.

“Well, I brought you all here so that everyone feels that you are both acknowledged, and involved in the whole process-“

“How long’s this gonna take, Doc?” Junkrat interrupted.

“Please listen, Jamison,” Mercy requested, sternly. “What I’m saying applies to you especially.”

Junkrat folded his arms in a huff.

“Just so you know,” Mercy continued. “If any one has any questions at any time, feel free to speak up. After all, cancer doesn’t just affect the person who has it, but the people around them as well.”

Junkrat muttered something under his breath.

“As I was saying, I brought you all here to discuss the next steps in Jamison’s treatment,” explained Mercy.

“It better include painkillers,” Rat grumbled, rubbing his back.

“I assure you, pain relief is always a part of cancer treatment. We will make sure you’re as pain free as possible throughout,” Mercy assured him.

“Hope so,” Junkrat groaned.

“Okay,” Mercy started. “Before we start treatment, I first want to ask you, Jamison. What do you want your Treatment Plan to look like?”

“What’s that?” he asked, confused.

“A Treatment Plan is a way for _you_ to tell me and other doctors how you want your treatment to go,” Mercy explained. “You get to set the rules for your treatment, decide what you want out of your treatment, the right to know about things like side effects and how likely your chances of recovery are, as well as your right to stop treatment at any point. I can suggest many options to you. But ultimately, _you_ have the final say.”

Junkrat grinned from ear to ear. The fact that he would be in control was a small comfort at least.

“I’m afraid I have some bad news though,” confessed Mercy, bringing Rat out of his thoughts.

“What is it?” asked Roadhog, breaking his silence.

There was a look of guilt on Mercy’s face.

“Funds have been allocated for Jamison’s treatment,” Mercy assured them. “But the amount is limited, and not enough for any form of immunotherapy.”

“What!” exclaimed Mykie. “Why?”

“It seems the UN doesn’t consider your father a high enough priority,” Mercy stated, woefully.

“Of course they don’t!” Junkrat ranted. “Fucking suits. They couldn’t give a fuck!”

“How the hell are we supposed to cure Dad then?” Mykie demanded.

“Yeah!” Junkrat joined in. “How are we supposed to cure me?“

“Calm down! All is not lost,” Mercy tried to regain control of the conversation.

“Can’t ya whip something up in yer lab or something?” Rat suggested.

“Even a scientist is only as good as their resources. And you all know as well as I, that the UN hasn’t exactly been forthcoming with that,” said Mercy. “Our options are limited, _but_ there are alternatives that are still available to us.”

“Like what?” asked Roadhog.

“There are treatments,” said Mercy. “Two in fact. Chemotherapy and stem cell transplant, which is also known as bone marrow transplant. They were the go-to treatments for cancer and other diseases in the twentieth to early mid twenty first century, before immuno and gene therapies were created. They’re rarely used nowadays. But they’re true, tried and tested methods.”

“If they work so well, then why haven’t they been used for so long?” Junkrat demanded.

“Because they come with a lot of side effects,” said Mercy.

“What sort of side effects?” Rat asked, suspicious.

“With bone marrow transplants,“ Mercy said. “The chances of side effects depends on the type you have. Transplants that involve a donor are the ones that have-“

“Will I need one of those?” asked Junkrat.

“Pardon?” replied Mercy.

“A donor,” Rat clarified. “Will I need one of them?”

“If you were to have an transplant that required a donor, to have the most success, the donor would need to be a close relative of your’s,” said Mercy. “Ideally, a sibling.”

“But I don’t have one of those!” exclaimed Junkrat. “At least, I don’t think I do.”

“Me and Trinket can go look up if Dad has any relatives that are still alive!” Mykie offered.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” said Mercy. “But it’s more likely your father will have a transplant where they take healthy cells from his own body and use them to replace the diseased ones.”

“And the other one?” Mykie asked.

“The chemotherapy?” replied Mercy. “Hold on, let me show you this, Jamison.”

She brought out a tablet from her desk and handed it over to Junkrat.

“It contains a list of the side effects of chemotherapy. Some of it may sound scary, but it’s important you know what to expect.”

Rat scoffed.

“I’ve fought Talon agents scarier looking than whatever’s on here,” he said, snatching the tablet from her hand.

Junkrat poured over the document provided. And the more he read, the more he wanted to stop. His hands were still, only to hide the terror lodged in his stomach. It was too much, and it was happening too fast.

The side effects were numerous, and listed many things from nausea and vomiting, to headaches and memory problems, to diarrhoea and constipation, to bladder and kidney problems, mouth sores, and loss of hair, appetite, weight, and libido, not to mention fertility. The one that caught Rat’s eye however, was the part where it mentioned nerve and muscle problems including numbness, tingling, and pain.

Great! More pain.

And that was when the true horror of the situation hit him. Because of a bunch of suits from on high, he was being made to choose between either dying a slow agonising death, or having some barbaric treatment that sounded like it would kill him before the cancer ever could. And which ever way he chose, he would be at the mercy of complete strangers. Hell, he was at the mercy of some right now! But at least they weren’t there to poke, prod, cut him up, and worst of all, _pity_ him.

“Dad? Dad!” Mykie called, snapping Junkrat out of his thoughts.

He looked up from the tablet to see everyone looking at him with concern. There was a look of terror in his eyes as he tried to process the information he had just read.

“Are you okay, Jamison?” asked Mercy.

Junkrat swallowed a lump in his throat.

“I-it’s nothing,” he stammered. “I’m fine, Doc.”

“Okay,” said Mercy. “Just so you know, because chemotherapy hasn’t been practiced for so long, and because you’ll be given such high doses, you’ll need to be admitted to hospital for close monitoring.”

“What!” exclaimed Junkrat. “Oh fuck no! I ain’t gonna be stuck in no hospital to be some guinea pig!”

“I understand your concerns, Jamison,” Mercy acknowledged. “But you can’t have treatment unless you go. You’ll be receiving high doses of chemotherapy. Which means your immune system will be too weak to fight off infection. You could become sick very easily, and it could be life threatening.”

“Please Dad,” urged Trinket, breaking her silence. “You have to do what Angela says.”

“Please Dad,” Mykie joined in. “For us?”

Junkrat grumbled under his breath.

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll go! If it makes ya all happy.”

Trinket wrapped her arms around her father. Junkrat awkwardly hugged her back. Even after all these years, he still wasn’t comfortable with such public displays of affection.

“In that case, I better make some arrangements,” said Mercy, rather chipper. “I’ve already looked for hospitals that are suitable for you. And the best one that is willing to take you on is Royal Perth Hospital in Western Australia.”

“That’s just a few days ride from our old home!” Junkrat remarked.

“But since I’ve been unable to find the necessary ID,” Mercy said. “I haven’t been able to prove your citizenship. So I’m afraid you don’t qualify for Medicare.”

“What d’ya mean ya can’t prove me citizenship!” Junkrat yelled, outraged. “I’m a true blue Aussie! I’m as much Aussie as any city wanker! I was born in ‘Straya, I grew up in ‘Straya! Why’s that not enough?”

“Because to prove citizenship, you need several forms of ID, including a birth certificate. And I haven’t been able to find yours,” Mercy explained. “It’s just how the system there works, unfortunately.”

“Fucking suits and their bloody paperwork,” Rat muttered under his breath.

“Daddy?”

Everyone turned to Trinket.

“Where is Junkertown?” she asked.

“Huh? It’s in Central Oz, love,” Junkrat explained. “It’s closer to Perth than it is to Darwin.”

Mercy took the liberty to hand everyone else a tablet of their own.

Trinket looked down at her’s. On it, was a digital booklet that had pictures and short simple words.

“Trinket?” asked Mercy.

Trinket looked up.

“Yes?”

“Did you understand what has been said?” Mercy inquired.

Trinket shook her head. In truth, she had understood very little. All she knew was that her dad had an illness called cancer, and that he had to go into hospital. Much like she did when she needed operations on her heart when she was little. Thinking of Hospital brought back many memories from her childhood, some unpleasant. She remembered how her Dad would scream and yell at every doctor or nurse who came within a few feet of her, especially if they had needles. Her father could be very scary when angry.

“It’s okay, Trinket,” Mercy said, soothingly. “I know that I used a lot of new words today. So hopefully, this booklet should help you understand better what is going on. Perhaps you could read it with someone. Your Dad or Papa perhaps?”

“I’ll do it,” Roadhog offered.

“Great!” Mercy clasped her hands together.

She then turned to Junkrat.

“I must warn you, Jamison. This will not be easy. Chemotherapy is brutal, and will make you sicker than you already are. There _will_ be times where you feel like giving up. Are you sure you’re able to do this?”

Junkrat clenched his hands into fists as a new feeling rose up inside of him. So much so, that it overwhelmed the fear in him. He had felt it before, but never to this extent. What he felt at that point in time, was nothing less than pure undiluted spite. For the suits, for putting him in this position, for the cancer, for what it was doing to him, but most of all, towards Mercy.

”Ya think ya know me, do ya?” he sneered. “Think ya know what I can and can’t do, do ya? Think I’ll just lie down and let the cancer get me? Fuck you! And fuck whoever agrees with ya. I’ll take whatever poison you got and then some! I’ll even take whatever needles ya stick in me. Y’know why? ‘Cos I’m a Junker, that’s why!”

Mercy had a huge grin on her face.

Junkrat scowled. Damn that quack.

“In that case,” said Mercy. “I have some arrangements I need to make.”

…

Half an hour later, and Mykie and Trinket sat in the communal lounge with a large tablet between the two of them.

“I always wanted to know about Dad’s mum and dad,” said Trinket.

“Yeah,” Mykie agreed. “He‘s never talked about them. Keeps saying he doesn’t remember them.”

“Why doesn’t Dad remember them?” asked Trinket, unable to imagine not being able to remember your own parents.

“Dunno,” Mykie answered. “But we’ll soon find out who they are.”

The girls turned their attention back towards the tablet.

“Okay,” said Mykie, opening the search engine. “Lets do this.”

Mykie typed on the screen and brought up the Australian government website. Okay. Now what? Mykie scrolled down past a news bulletin about the various Junker raids on small towns taking place in Western Australia until they got to the A to Z of Government Services. Surely they could find what they were looking for there.

“This looks hard,” commented Trinket.

“Hopefully, not too hard,” replied Mykie.

She entered the A to Z section, and again scrolled until they found what they were looking for. Births, Deaths, and Marriage Registries. Bingo.

“I think this is it!” said Mykie, selecting the link.

The page opened up. But instead of finding one of those search engines where you place the name, birthday, and the like, all that came up was a general definition on what the page was about, and the option of eight Australian states to choose from.

“Which one do we pick?” asked Trinket.

Mykie gritted her teeth as frustration began to set in. She opened the Northern Territory page. More scrolling.

“Ah! Here it is!” she said. “Finally.”

She selected ‘Search Births, Deaths, and Marriages Records’. Trinket and Mykie’s hearts sank when they read the first two paragraphs.

“_You can't search other people's birth, death, marriage and change of name records due to privacy laws._

_The only records that are open to the public are historical records._”

“What!” exclaimed Mykie, her blood boiling.

She read on, hoping that there were exceptions to the rules.

“_To search births, deaths and marriages records you must be one of the following:_

  * _The person named on the birth, marriage or change of name record_
  * _An immediate family member named on the death certificate, such as a spouse, parent or child_
  * _A parent, grandparent or guardian of a child over 18 years old who wishes to apply for a birth certificate and who has given written permission._

_You can also search the records if you have been given approval by the Registrar - eg: government departments needing information._”

“Argh!”

Mykie took hold of the tablet and attempted to throw it across the room. Luckily, Trinket grabbed it before she could.

“This is impossible!” Mykie yelled, throwing her hands up. “We’ll never find it!”

“Don’t be mad, Mykie,” Trinket spoke, her voice calming and softhearted. “Let’s do something else.”

Mykie sighed and composed herself.

“Yeah, Trinket. Yer right.”

“Hello there girls!” came a gruff voice.

Mykie and Trinket looked up to see Torbjörn standing before them. The old man looked at them curiously.

“What is it you’re doing that’s so frustrating?” he asked. “Anything I can help with?”

“Were trying to look for Dad’s mum and dad,” said Trinket.

Mykie tensed, discomfort setting in.

“Oh?” said Torbjörn, intrigued. “Is there any reason?”

Mykie waved her flat palm across her throat, silently begging Trinket to stop.

“Dad has cancer,” Trinket answered, oblivious to Mykie’s pleas. “He needs someone to give him bone marrow.”

Mykie facepalmed.

Torbjörn stood there, shocked.

“Oh,” was all he said. “I’m er, sorry to hear that.”

“Angela says he has to go to hospital,” Trinket explained.

“Did she now?” said Torbjörn. “Well, the good thing is, he’s in the best of hands. Keep your chins up girls. He couldn’t have anyone better than Angela. If anyone can cure your father, she certainly can.”

“T-thanks, Torb,” Mykie said, awkwardly.

“Varsågod,” the old engineer replied.

With nothing else to say, Torbjörn turned and left. Using his cane for support.

“Nice going Trinket,” Mykie snarked.

“What did I do?” asked Trinket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to forewarn you, chapter 4 may take slightly longer to publish because I'm taking part in the Roadrat NSFW charity zine. So just a heads up.


	4. I Don't Need Your Pity!

Two days past, and Junkrat began to notice that everyone was acting strangely around him. People would stare at him as they passed by, always with a sad or curious look on their faces. He especially noticed when Brigitte stopped punching him playfully. Why? They always punched one another when they crossed paths. That was their _thing!_ Was he no longer good enough for that now? Junkrat almost voiced his indignation towards her, but was stopped by Roadhog before he could.

Just why the hell was everyone treating him like this all of a sudden? And who did these cunts think they were? It frustrated him to no end. The pity, the sad glares, it all painted him as weak and incapable. He hated that feeling, and he hated them for making him feel this way.

…

And it didn’t stop come dinner time. Junkrat could see them out of the corners of his eyes. He glared down at his food, forcing himself to say nothing as per Roadhog’s direction. The tension in the mess hall was palpable. At least it was, until Rat heard two familiar voices.

“Hey hey! Lúcio and D.va in da house!” said Lúcio as he and D.va sat down with their food.

“Sup!” D.va greeted. “Did you hear about my latest high score?”

“No?” said Mykie.

“Oh!” began D.va. “It was amazing. I got several multi kills in under half a minute! Andtook the point in just four. It was… _amazing_.”

“Ya did?” said Junkrat, latching onto the conversation. “Aces!”

“Hey, Mykie! How’s your training going?” asked D.va.

“Yeah, it’s going good,” Mykie answered. “Lena says I’m improving.”

“Well, that’s great!” Lúcio complemented. “Keep going at it!”

Trinket and Roadhog ate their food in silence. Junkrat felt himself relax a bit. Everything was completely normal. The same as always.

“Yo, Jamie,” Lúcio piped up.

“Yeah?” replied Junkrat.

“Have ya heard?” Lúcio asked.

“Heard what?” said Junkrat, raising an eyebrow.

“What people are saying about you.”

Roadhog stopped eating and listened intently.

“No?” Junkrat said, gulping. “What’re they saying?”

“Well, I don’t know if these rumours are true or not,” said Lúcio. “They’re probably not. But I keep hearing you have cancer or something like that.”

Junkrat froze. The whole family fell silent.

“… D-dunno what gave ya that idea, mate,” Rat said, his voice quavering. ”But if I did, they’ll have so many wires and tubes in me I’ll look like a bloody puppet!” he said, forcing a laugh. “I mean, you hear a cancer joke and it makes you laugh… until you get it!”

Lúcio and D.va stared at him in shock.

“… So it’s true?” said D.va.

“Aw man, I’m so sorry,” Lúcio joined in.

Junkrat returned their sympathies with a glare. This was not the response he had hoped for.

“Wait,” said D.va, confused. “I thought they’d found a cure for that.”

Junkrat glared even harder, clenching his fists.

“Hey, it’s okay,” said Lúcio, trying to ease the tension. “I know you’ll get through this. And don’t worry, Hana and I will always be here for ya-“

Junkrat slammed his fists on the table.

“STOP BANGING ON ABOUT ME CANCER!”

The whole Mess Hall fell silent. Everyone turned and looked in Rat’s direction. For a while, no one said anything.

“So it’s true,” said Zarya.

That did it. Junkrat got up, ignoring the pain in his back, and stormed out of the room. Shortly after, Roadhog got up and followed him.

Everyone then turned their attention towards the girls. Feeling the stares, Trinket shuffled closer to Mykie.

“I’m really sorry,” said Ana.

“My condolences,” said Reinhardt.

“Are you okay?” Mei inquired.

“Will he be alright?” asked Winston.

“He_ will_ be alright, right?” Brigitte pressed.

Mykie placed an arm around Trinket’s shoulder while scowling at the rest of Overwatch.

…

Roadhog lumbered down the hall after Junkrat, using his cane for support. His breathing laboured despite the aid of his oxygen machine. Thankfully, it wasn’t long before Roadhog caught up with Junkrat. But when he did, he hand to take a moment to catch his breath. Junkrat turned around and folded his arms, scowling. After catching his breath, Roadhog straightened up and faced his angry partner.

“What d’ya want?” Junkrat demanded.

“Come back inside,” Roadhog said, his voice still breathy.

“No! I ain’t going back in there!” Rat answered.

“You need to,” Roadhog insisted.

“So I can be treated like a fucking runt? Fuck that! I don’t need to hear how sorry everyone is. I don’t need their sympathies. I don’t need their pity!”

“They only mean well,” said Roadhog.

“So?” Rat snapped back. “Not like it does me any good! All it does is remind me constantly that I’ve got fucking cancer.”

“Not saying it is,” said Hog, trying his best to calm Rat down. “But walking out, in front of our kids no less, won’t help.”

“Like I give a fuck,” Rat said.

Roadhog let out a sigh.

“Just, come back inside,” he said. “The girls will steal your food otherwise.”

“Not hungry,” Junkrat muttered.

“Your choice,” said Roadhog. “But I’m not leaving the girls to face the aftermath alone.”

Junkrat sucked in a lungful of air.

“Fine, fine,” he said, before following Roadhog back to the Mess Hall.

Upon re-entering the Mess Hall, everyone averted their eyes from the Junkers. Everyone that was, except D.va, Lúcio, and the girls.

“E-er, hey,” said Lúcio, apprehensively. “I’m sorry about-“

Roadhog glared at him through his mask. Lúcio immediately knew to shut up.

…

Later on that day, Roadhog sat with Trinket as they read the pdf booklet that Mercy had given her. Junkrat tinkered in his workshop in the next room with the door open, trying to block out what Roadhog and Trinket were reading. Mykie meanwhile, was with Pharah in the hangar, both working on their bikes together. Trinket read over the booklet haltingly, relying heavily on the illustrations and her Papa to interpret many of the words for her.

"_Cancer is a serious illness but lots of people get better._" 

The booklet read.

"_But, some people with cancer do die._" 

Trinket froze at that sentence.

“Is Dad going to die, Papa?” Trinket asked, looking up at Roadhog nervously. 

Junkrat stopped tinkering.

“No,” Roadhog said. “He won’t. So long as he goes to hospital and let’s the doctors and nurses take care of him, that shouldn’t happen.”

He made sure to say that last part out loud enough for Junkrat to hear.

“Yeah yeah!” came Rat’s voice from the other room. “I’ll go and let ‘em make me their own personal guinea pig!”

Trinket let out a giggle.

Roadhog smiled. He loved it when either of his daughter’s laughed. Both girls had their Dad’s laughter, and sense of humour to go with it.

“Can I come to the hospital with you?” asked Trinket.

“Course ya can!” said Junkrat, somewhat relieved he would have familiar faces there.

“Can I stay with you?” she asked.

“No,” answered Roadhog.

“Why?” said Trinket, disappointed.

“Because they don’t allow visitors to stay over,” Hog explained.

“And why not!?” she shouted, standing upright in an angry fit.

Roadhog was stunned, she never had an outburst like this.

“It’s okay, calm dow-“

“Why am I always treated differently than Mykie?” Trinket demanded. “Is it cause my brain is wrong? Am I broken?” 

Tears began to well up in her eyes.

Roadhog tried to draw her into a hug, only for Trinket to push him away. Roadhog looked at her with a guilt ridden expression. That was when Junkrat entered the room.

“C’mon, Trinket!” he said, attempting to cheer her up. “Nothings wrong with you. You’re our little treasure, and nothin’s gonna change that.” 

Trinket forced a smile. She knew her fathers were only trying to make her feel better, but she still couldn’t stop thinking about the unfairness of it all. Despite her ADHD, Mykie was the one with all the promise and potential. Mykie was the one who was an up and coming recruit to Overwatch. Mykie was the one who would go on to follow in their father’s footsteps. As for Trinket? She was just… Trinket. Nothing special. She certainly had no hope of ever achieving such lofty goals. What with her heart defect and intellectual disability. Hell, she didn’t even have much hope of having a job outside of a sheltered workshop. The other Overwatch agents treated her either like she was still a child, or like she was some lost puppy in need of protection. Sometimes though, she was hardly noticed at all.

Roadhog could tell Trinket was only smiling for Junkrat’s sake. Rat was the type that would rather distract someone from their problems, instead of helping them face them. Much like how he approached his own problems. He would probably ignore the C problem if he could. Only, there was no ignoring it. The bags were packed. The hotel room had been booked. They were heading for Perth. Roadhog was under no pretence that any of this would be easy for Junkrat. Or for the girls for that matter. That’s why he had to be the strong one in all this.


	5. Needles, Needles, And More Needles

For two days, Junkrat, Roadhog, and the girls spent their time in Perth seeing all the sights. The trip began with exploring Elizabeth Quay and the iconic Bell Tower. Followed by a cruise down Swan River to Fremantle and back again. Junkrat gleefully pointed out all the places he and Roadhog had robbed, bombed, and reaped overall chaos back in their crime spree days. Afterwards, they went around all the shops and pubs, though Junkrat wasn’t allowed any alcohol much to his annoyance. The next day they visited Perth Zoo, as per Trinket’s request. Followed soon after by a session of indoor skydiving. Then a bike race through the outskirts of Perth between Mykie and Roadhog, with Junkrat and Trinket cheering them on. The trip ended with the Junker family letting off fireworks on Cottesloe Beach, and trying not to get caught by the authorities.

The next day was when they went to Royal Perth Hospital. And needless to say, the place was huge. So huge in fact, that they needed a map just to find the right building, let alone the right unit.

“This place is like a maze,” Trinket commented, as the Junker family and Mercy made their way through the labyrinth of corridors.

Eventually, they ended up outside a unit labelled Haematology and Medical Oncology.

“This is it,” Mercy said, before leading the way in.

After checking in at the desk, they were told to wait to see the doctor. Everyone sat in silence. Everyone that was, except Junkrat, who constantly asked how much longer they had to wait while he jigged his leg impatiently. Finally, after what had felt like an eternity to Junkrat, the doctor called them in.

The meeting itself was a blur for Junkrat. The doctor had been friendly enough, but _god_ were his constant questions annoying. Asking him about his medical history, how long he’d had cancer, and even why his date of birth wasn’t recorded.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Now if you could just lie down on the bed for me.”

“But, I ain’t tired… much,” said Junkrat, confused.

“No, I need to examine you,” the doctor chuckled. “I need to assess your overall health.”

“Sure,” Junkrat said. “Like I ain’t been poked and prodded enough.”

Junkrat was reluctantly led to an examination bed with a monitor beside it.

“Okay,” the doctor said. “Now, just lie still while I-“

Rat’s eyes widened at the size of the needle.

“Keep that thing away from me!” Junkrat shrieked, almost leaping off the bed.

Trinket and Mykie both cringed and felt relieved it wasn’t them having to be jabbed with the needle.

Mercy sighed. Clearly, Junkrat had not become accustomed to the biopsies since the first time around.

In the end, Roadhog had to get up and hold his hand while the doctor numbed and extracted some bone marrow from Junkrat.

Not too soon after Rat had sat back down with his family, the doctor handed Junkrat a tablet and pen. Grabbing it with a twinge of disdain, Junkrat looked over it while the doctor elaborated on its importance.

“What’s this?” he asked, squinting his eyes at the small print.

“It’s a consent form,” explained Mercy. “By signing it, you give the hospital permission to perform the chemotherapy and stem cell transplant.”

“Didn’t ya say I could back out anytime?” Rat asked, suspiciously.

“Even if you sign it, you can still back out,” Mercy said.

Junkrat considered doing just that. After all that he had been put through already, it did seem tempting.

Suddenly, Mykie and Trinket gazed at him with the most heartbreaking puppy dog eyes imaginable.

With a heavy groan, Junkrat signed his name in the little white rectangle. He felt like he had just signed away his soul. Or his treasure. But mostly his soul.

“Perfect!” said the doctor, taking back the tablet. “Now, I just need to give you your shot, and then we’re done!”

“_More_ bleeding shots?” Junkrat whined.

Little did he know that this would be the first of many shots.

…

Over the next week, Junkrat underwent a variety of tests, X-rays, a CT scan, and many many shots. Some in the belly. Some of which he had to do himself. Honestly, it was as if they were trying to turn him into a pincushion. Of course, Roadhog had to make sure he had his injections at the same time everyday. As well as making sure he showed up on time for his appointments.

Roadhog could tell how much Junkrat hated every minute of it. Not least because he would constantly complain about it at the end of the day. This was especially true when he had the CT scan. But despite detesting his situation, he didn’t resist the doctor’s and nurse’s constant poking, prodding, and jabbing of him. Both Rat and Hog knew that he needed to do this for the girls sake. However he felt about it, there was no backing out now.

…

Before long, the day of the bone marrow harvest arrived.

After checking in at the desk, a nurse instructed them to follow her. As they past a row of doors, a sense of nervousness and apprehension grew in the pit of Junkrat’s stomach. Though, that could just be all the drugs, he thought. The nurse led Junkrat, his family, and Mercy to a private room. The room was surprisingly nice. Far from being cold, sterile, and white, the room was well lit and contained a table at one end, two comfy looking chairs, a hospital bed, and a weird boxlike machine beside it. This… didn’t seem so bad, Junkrat thought.

“Is it alright if you could remove your prosthetics?” the nurse asked.

“No I bloody well ain’t!” Rat answered. “I don’t take me arm or leg off for no one!”

Well… except Roadhog and the girls of course. And Mercy sometimes. But that was besides the point! He wasn’t going to take his prosthetics off in front of a complete stranger.

“Jamison,” said Mercy.

Great, another lecture from the angel herself.

“You need to remove your prosthetics so that the nurse can put a catheter in both arms.”

“I’m gonna look like a bloody porcupine at this rate,” Rat remarked.

Reluctantly, Junkrat sat on the bed and removed his prosthetics and boot.

“Now, the nurse is going to connect your main arteries to the Aphaeresis machine, which will separate the bone marrow from your blood,” explained Mercy. “It will then return your blood back to your body.”

“So this thing’s gonna suck all me blood out?” exclaimed Junkrat.

“Not all at once,” Mercy assured him. “Just enough to harvest the stem cells.”

Once again, unease grew within Junkrat. Considering how many needles he had been jabbed with, it was surprisingly difficult for Mercy to insert the catheters into the crooks of his arms. It didn’t help that Junkrat was both twitchy and dehydrated. Junkrat grimaced as he felt the needles being inserted. But once everything was in place, Mercy switched the machine on.

“Try to keep your arms straight, Jamison,” Mercy instructed.

“How long do I have to sit like this?” Rat asked.

“Don’t worry, the process shouldn’t take more than a few hours,” said Mercy.

“_Hours?_” Rat whined. “The hell am I supposed to do ‘till then?”

“Just sit back, keep your arms straight, and just relax. Perhaps you could watch something on the TV,” Mercy suggested.

“What if I have to piss?”

“_Dad!_” exclaimed Mykie, mortified.

“If you need to use the toilet, just call the nurse and they’ll bring you a urinal bottle you can relieve yourself into,” said Mercy, unfazed by the question.

“So I have to piss in a bottle then?” Junkrat said, giggling at the thought.

“Anyway, I’m needed for a mission.” Mercy said. “If you need anything, just call on the nurses until I’m back.”

She then left Junkrat, Roadhog, and the girls alone together.

Several minutes past. Junkrat looked down at the his arms which both rested on pillows. He watched as his blood flowed through the tubes in his arms to the machine. The needles stung like hell, but Rat refused to show his discomfort. The machine itself whirred continuously as it got to work separating the bone marrow from the rest of Junkrat’s blood. That, coupled with the ticking of a clock somewhere made for an uncomfortable silence.

“It’s a nice room, ain’t it,” Mykie spoke up.

“Took fucking clean if ya ask me,” remarked Junkrat.

Trinket, who by this point had sat down on the end of the bed, decided to rummage through the bag Mykie had brought along. It wasn’t long before she drew out a picture book.

“Can I read to you, Dad?” she asked.

“Yeah, fine,” said Junkrat. “Least it won’t be so boring.”

And with that, Trinket began her story. The story itself wasn’t so interesting, and Trinket’s narration was halting and robotic, but nonetheless the whole family were soon engrossed.

Before long, there was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” called Roadhog.

The door opened.

“G’day, my name’s Anne, I’m one of the nurses looking after you in Dr. Ziegler’s place,” the nurse greeted.

“How much longer do I have to sit like this?” asked Junkrat. “Me arms are killing me.”

“Well, let’s have a look,” said Anne.

She went over and examined the IV bags that hung over the Aphaeresis machine.

“Hmm, that seems to be a good amount for today,” she said. “I’d say you’re done for today.”

“Wait. What?” said Junkrat, confused.

“You heard me,” Anne said, beginning to turn the machine off.

“I thought ya wanted me in tonight,” said Junkrat.

“What? Nah. That will happen when we start pumping ya full of chemo,” Anne explained, beginning to unhook Junkrat from the machine. “Of course, we want ya back tomorrow to continue the bone marrow harvest. But for now, you’re free to go.”

“Aces!” Junkrat cheered.

Once Junkrat was completely unhooked and bandaged up, he and his family were sent on their way. The sun was still shining when they got outside.

“Hey,” Junkrat spoke up. “Who’s up for another race?”

Roadhog smirked at Mykie under his mask.

“You’re on!” said Mykie.

The family spent the rest of the day racing through the streets with the police hot on their trail. Before being issued a speeding ticket and a good reprimanding from Overwatch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd have something a bit more lighthearted for a change.


	6. Fun Times At The Hospital

Overall, it took eighteen hours over three days to collect enough stem cells for Junkrat’s transplant. Eighteen hours of sitting in a bed with a needle in each arm, while a machine sucked out all his blood. Eighteen hours of having to sit still and let it happen. Eighteen hours of complete mind numbing boredom. And this was only stage two. Stage three was going to be even more challenging. Especially since this stage meant actually staying in hospital.

The next week, they headed back through the maze of corridors until they were back at the Oncology Unit. Checking in at the desk was a nightmare. The nurse kept asking Rat about ID, Medications, allergies, next of kin, emergency contacts, as well as other stuff he didn’t care about.

“Do you have any medical conditions we should know about?” the nurse asked.

“What kind of stupid question is that?” Junkrat scoffed.

“I mean, do you have any conditions other than what you’re in for?”

“You mean other than my crippling genius?” teased Rat.

The nurse rolled her eyes.

“No, he doesn’t,” said Roadhog.

Junkrat glared at him.

The nurse ticked something on a tablet, before handing Junkrat a leaflet.

“This here explains your rights as a patient-“

“Yeah yeah, I get it, alright,” Junkrat cut her off.

“_Dad_,” chided Mykie.

“What?”

“Jamison, the nurse is only doing her job,” Mercy chimed in.

“Fine,” Rat grumbled. “Just stop telling me shit I already know.”

“Mr. Fawkes,“ the nurse chimed in. “If you and your family could come with me, I’ll take you to your room.”

The nurse led everyone down the corridor until they arrived at what would be Junkrat’s room for the several weeks. The room was just as nice as the one where Junkrat had his bone marrow harvested.

Seeing all the technology on the walls brought glee to Junkrat. He was already coming up with ways he could take each of them apart to see what made them tick. Maybe even make a few inventions out of anything he found useful. Perhaps having to stay in hospital won’t be so bad after all. Rat’s thoughts were soon interrupted when Roadhog dumped his bulging duffel bag on the hospital chair. The nurse‘s eyes widened when she noticed what was in it.

“What’s all this?” the nurse demanded.

“Ya told me to pack the essentials, so I did,” Junkrat said, like it was no big deal.

“Are those explosives?” the nurse asked, beginning to sound tense.

“… Maybe,” said Junkrat, sheepishly. “But they ain’t live… yet.”

Mercy and the girls stood in stunned silence. How on Earth did he have the gall to bring bombs into a hospital?

Roadhog sighed. Perhaps he shouldn’t have relented when Junkrat begged him to let him pack his own bags.

“You do realise I’m gonna have to issue a Code Black and call the police,” the nurse informed Junkrat.

“Don’t worry! We’ll just take these and get rid of ‘em. No harm, no fowl. Right?” Mykie said, snatching the duffel bag.

“What? Oi!” Junkrat protested. “Gimme back me bombs!”

“And just so y’know, no one else needs to know about this,” said Mykie, ignoring her affronted father.

“I-I suppose,” the nurse stuttered.

“Fine, ignore me why don’t ya!” griped Junkrat.

“Well, if you don’t want to be ignored, Mr. Fawkes,” the nurse said. “Then I suggest you take these and go change.”

“Change?” said Junkrat, confused.

That was when nurse handed him a prosthetic leg, a hospital gown, and a single sock with studs on it. It soon occurred to Junkrat just what the nurse meant.

“If ya think I’m gonna wear that shit, why don’t ya just ask to take me bollocks too?” Junkrat griped.

Fed up with the way the nurse was being treated, Mercy stepped forward.

“Jamison.”

Junkrat glared at her.

“I know that you don’t like any of this,” she said. “But everything we’re doing is to help you get better. You need to be kept in a germ free environment to protect you from infection. That includes wearing the gown.”

Junkrat huffed. He knew she was right. Reluctantly, he took the leg, gown, and sock and headed to the wet room en-suite to change.

Junkrat emerged from the en-suite a few minutes later. And needless to say, he looked absolutely miserable. And who could blame him? After having been stripped of his bombs, clothes, and his own prosthetics, everything that made him Junkrat, what was left?

“Nice,” Mykie half teased. “Could be a new look!”

“Yeah yeah, don’t get your hopes up,” Rat grumbled.

“Is the prosthetic comfortable?” asked Mercy.

“No,” said Junkrat. “Socket’s loose, and the knee’s too stiff.”

“Quit your whining,” said Roadhog.

Junkrat sulked.

“Least this thing don’t show me arse off,” he remarked, handing over his arm, peg leg, and clothes reluctantly.

“Now,” The nurse said. “If you would like to come with us, Mr. Fawkes, we’ll now take you into surgery.”

That was when Junkrat spotted a surgeon and another nurse with a wheelchair.

“If ya think I’m getting on that thing, you’re fucking dreaming!” Junkrat scoffed. “I ain’t completely useless! If I’m gonna get sliced and diced, I can walk there meself.”

“Very well, Mr. Fawkes,” the nurse said, clearly growing tired of Rat’s attitude. “Right this way.”

As Junkrat, Mercy, and the nurse left, Trinket made to follow after him. But she was soon stopped by Roadhog.

“Not you,” he said. “You need to stay here.”

“Why?” asked Trinket, disappointed.

“‘Cos it’s surgery,” said Mykie. “We can’t be with Dad ‘cos we could spread germs.”

“Oh,” said Trinket, disheartened.

…

An hour later, Junkrat returned from surgery. He had been awake the entire time, so he wasn’t groggy or sleepy. But there was something different about him. Everyone noticed, but Trinket was the first to point it out.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing to the Y shaped tube hanging from the right side of Junkrat’s chest.

It looked like a two headed snake.

“It’s called a Hickman tube,” explained Mercy. “It’s how we‘ll be giving your father his chemotherapy.”

“How long will he have it?” Mykie asked, clearly creeped out by it.

“He’ll have it until the end of his treatment,” said Mercy, matter-of-factly. “I know it’s a bit unsettling, but we wouldn’t do anything we don’t deem unnecessary.”

The sight of it was unsettling for just about everyone, but it was especially disturbing to Junkrat. It didn’t hurt or anything. Though, he had been told not to fiddle with it, and to keep it dry at all times. But the fact that it was there brought home how all the more real this was. Before, he could just pretend that he was as normal, as he always was. But now, just one glance down at his chest would be a constant reminder that he had… _it_.

“Okay!” said Mercy. “I have managed to completely heal the opening around the catheter. So if it’s alright with you, Jamison, I would like to start chemotherapy immediately.”

“Now?” Junkrat reiterated.

“Yes. Now.”

Mercy gestured towards the bed. Not long after, an IV stand was brought in with two bags of liquid hanging from it. Hooking Junkrat up to the IV was much easier thanks to the Hickman line. With the press of a few buttons, the chemotherapy treatment began. One by one, the nurses said goodbye and left to perform other duties.

“Would you like for me to return later?” asked Mercy.

“Yeah… sure,” replied Junkrat, his voice distant.

“In that case,” Mercy said. “I shall check up on a little later.”

She then left Junkrat, Roadhog, and the girls alone together.

The silence that followed was deafening. Minutes past before anyone spoke up.

“So… what did I miss?” Junkrat asked, no longer able to take the silence.

“Not much,” replied Mykie, her voice monotonous.

“Hey, Trinky!” said Junkrat, forcing his enthusiasm. “You did any reading when I was out?”

“No,” answered Trinket.

Junkrat’s smile faded slightly. He wracked his brain, trying to find something interesting to say.

“Er… lovely weather today, right?” was all he came out with.

This only served to increase the awkward atmosphere of the room. Junkrat looked to Trinket, then to Mykie, then to Roadhog. Hoping that _someone_ would carry on the conversation, even just nonverbally.

In the end, Roadhog picked up the remote and switched on the TV. He flicked through a few channels, trying to find one that sparked his interest. That was when he came across a news program. The reporter appeared to be talking about another Junker raid. This time in the town of Kellerberrin. The reporter went on.

“This brutal attack by this gang of Junkers has left seven dead and fourteen injured. It is not clear how they have been able to wreak so much havoc without any of them being apprehended or captured. But according to many sources, it appears that they are having some form of outside help. The gang was last seen heading westwards.”

“Seems like it’s getting worse out there,” Mykie commented. “Sure hope the authorities will sort it.”

Roadhog grunted, then promptly changed the channel to some old Disney movie. It was one of those old ones from the mid twentieth century. The one about two kids, a magical nanny, and some bloke who was a painter one minute and a chimney sweep the next. Mary Poppins, he believed it was called. They were at the part where they were in the painting and the the two adult characters were being served tea and cake by a bunch on animated penguins. The movie was familiar to Roadhog, although he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen it. Probably when he was just an ankle biter. How long ago was that? Fifty years. God, he was old. Suddenly, Hog’s thoughts were interrupted by Junkrat’s laughter. Clearly, he was enjoying the film. Roadhog looked around and saw that both Trinket and Mykie were also enjoying it, laughing along and singing the songs. He decided to watch it with them.

…

An hour after Mary Poppins ended, Mercy returned. There was something different about her though. She looked all flustered, and there was a bruised cut near her right eye. Clearly she had been in the wars.

“Hello everyone!” she announced, keeping a professional demeanour. “Sorry I’m late, I was gone longer than expected.”

She came forward and inspected the now empty IV bags.

“I see your first round of chemo is finished, Jamison,” she observed. “Very good! You’re well on your way to having the bone marrow transplant.”

“Really?” said Junkrat.

“Mhmm,” Mercy said, smiling.

“Yay!” Trinket gave a little cheer.

Mercy’s smile faded as she turned to Roadhog, and the girls.

“I’m afraid visiting hours ended ages ago,” she said. “You can always come back tomorrow, though.”

“What!” Junkrat exclaimed. “What d’ya mean? Do they have to go?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Mercy confirmed.

“But… I don’t want ‘em to go!” Junkrat bemoaned.

“I don’t want to go,” agreed Trinket.

“We must,” said Roadhog, hauling himself up with his cane.

“Please, Hoggy! Don’t leave me here,” begged Junkrat.

He tried to get out of the bed, only to be forced back down into it by Roadhog’s hand.

“We’ll see you tomorrow,” he assured Junkrat.

“I’ll discharge meself if ya don’t stay!” Rat threatened.

“Please, Dad!” Mykie pleaded. “Please stay in the hospital.”

“Please, Daddy?” Trinket joined in.

They both made sure to give him the puppy dog look, just to be sure.

“Fine! Fine, I’ll stay,” Rat said. “But ya better be back tomorrow. Or you’ll be sorry.”

…

That night, Junkrat tossed and turned in bed, unable to sleep. He didn’t know what time it was, only that it had been lights out ages ago. The fact that he was in an unfamiliar place made it difficult to drift off. That, and he couldn’t feel Hog’s huge warm form by his side. It also didn’t help that he his head hurt and his stomach was slightly nauseous. After a growl of frustration, Junkrat completely gave up on sleeping and just laid there, staring up at the ceiling. This was impossible. There was no way he could endure this shit for a week. Let alone several. Several weeks of being pumped full of poison, and god knows what else. Several weeks of being completely shut off from the world. It was like being in solitary confinement. Junkrat chuckled to himself. He hadn’t been in solitary confinement since the last time he was in prison, which was about… twenty to thirty years ago. He and Hog had been on the (mostly) straight and narrow ever since. But what would their lives be like now if it wasn’t for Overwatch? They would probably be locked away in a high security prison by now. Or dead. Yeah, probably dead. Although, if Junkrat didn’t go through with this treatment, he would probably be dead anyway. He guessed there was no winning sometimes. Other that the headache and nausea, he felt fine, for the most part. His hair wasn’t falling out so far, and thanks to some horrible pills, which he almost threw up mind you, he wasn’t spewing his guts out.

Unbeknownst to Junkrat however, much worse lay just on the horizon.


	7. Sick Of This

Junkrat felt alone. _Very_ alone.

The first few days were just as much hell as he had expected. Confined to an unfamiliar room with nothing to do, no one to talk to for hours on end, and only a shitty little TV for company. It didn’t take long for boredom and frustration to set in. For hours and hours Junkrat would pace the room, flick through TV channels, and fiddle with whatever he could get his hand on. The days were long, dull, and lonely. Oh so very lonely.

The only things he had to look forward to in the day were his chemotherapy sessions, pills for pain and nausea, and the shitty hospital food.

But as time went on, the days and hours began to blur together. It got hard to tell how much time had passed. More pacing, more channel flicking. Junkrat tossed and turned as he tried to sleep. More chemo, more pills.

Junkrat‘s resentment grew and grew. He hated everything. The nurses, doctors, and their stupid rules. The hospital room and it’s ever enclosing walls. The chemotherapy and how nauseous it made him feel. The pills and how they barely worked. The constant pain he was in. The boredom. The loneliness. But above all, the thing he hated most was the cancer itself. He hated it for putting him in this place. Hated it for making him dependent on others. Hated it for making him weak. He hated it, and he wished it would be over already.

…

“How are you, Dad?” asked Trinket.

“Oh, I’m living it up in here, love!” Junkrat said, enthusiastically. “This place has everything! Ya get free food, and room service, a lovely view, and a TV with endless channels!”

“Sounds like you’re having a good time,” chuckled Mykie.

“When can we come in the same room as you, Dad?” asked Trinket. “I don’t like having to sit out here.”

Because the chemotherapy was weakening Junkrat’s immune system, the nurses had forbidden his family from entering his room. Instead making them talk to him through a window that looked out into the corridor. Out of all the things Junkrat hated about his stay in hospital, it was this. Not being allowed to touch, hold, or embrace his family was the worst.

“Er… what have ya been put to lately?” Junkrat asked, wanting to change the subject.

“We saw dolphins today!” Trinket said. “Papa took us on a boat, and we got to see loads of dolphins. Some of them even swam up to us!”

“Really?” asked Junkrat, disheartened. “That’s… aces.”

The fact that his family were having such a good time without him only served to compound his isolation and loneliness. This emptiness manifested inside of him. Making his breathing heavier, and his heart feel like stone. Did he even matter anymore?

“Hey, Dad!” Mykie said, bringing Junkrat out of his thoughts. “Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Huh?” replied Junkrat, confused. “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“The transplant?” Mykie explained.

“Oh, that!” said Junkrat.

He had completely forgotten what day of the week it was.

“Heh, guess the days have just sorta… blurred together,” Junkrat said, sounding distant, like a whisper in a storm.

“… You okay Dad?” Mykie asked, a little concerned.

“Fine! I’m fine, love,” Junkrat said, forcing a smile.

Roadhog looked at his partner with skepticism. He was about to say something when a nurse came up to them.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But I’m afraid visiting hours are over.”

Junkrat’s face fell.

“Already?” said Junkrat, clearly disappointed.

“Afraid so,” the nurse confirmed. “But ya can have a few more minutes.”

Junkrat gave a rueful smile.

…

_Later that night_

“NURSE? _NUUURSE!_” Junkrat called out as he frantically pressed the call button.

“What is it, Jamison?” a nurse sighed, appearing outside the corridor window.

“I can’t sleep!” Junkrat complained.

The nurse let out another sigh. This was the third time this night that she had been called. Which wasn’t so bad considering Junkrat had called the nurses eight times before.

“You want some sleeping pills?”

“Fuck no!” Junkrat exclaimed. “Ya already make me swallow enough poison! I want something good to watch for once!”

“I keep telling ya, Jamison, it’s not our job to entertain you. Only call us if ya actually need our help.“

Junkrat folded his arms in a huff.

“Besides which,” the nurse continued. “You should be in bed. Lights out! You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

…

_The next morning_

The big day had finally arrived. And needless to say, Junkrat was nervous. His stomach fluttered and his palm felt clammy and cold. He felt sick as well, though Junkrat chalked that up to the chemo. Everything he had suffered through had led up to this point. After weeks of confinement and chemotherapy, he was finally getting the transplant.

Junkrat lay in bed for many hours while a nurse stood by and monitored him. She was dressed head to toe in full protective scrubs, including a face mask, plastic apron, and latex gloves. He had been told it was for his protection. Since his immune system had been utterly destroyed by the chemo, anyone who came into contact with Junkrat had to wear protective clothes for his sake. That didn’t stop him from being freaked out by their presence.

Junkrat could feel the fluids and medications being pumped into his body through the Hickman line. Even now, he still wasn’t quite used to the sensation. Then the stem cells arrived. They had been kept on ice for weeks, and carefully thawed out. Junkrat thought he should be excited that he was finally getting the transplant, but he wasn’t. This was just another rest stop on his long and arduous “Road to Recovery”, as the nurses so eloquently put it. But soon it would be over. Just a few more weeks while his immune system recovered, and he would be right as rain.

The actual transplant didn’t take all that long. Twenty minutes give or take, and was followed with more IV fluids.

“You alright so far?” the nurse asked him suddenly.

“Yeah,” replied Junkrat. “Why d’ya ask?”

“Cos… I dunno if you’ve been told this,” the nurse said, sounding hesitant. “But things are gonna get a lot tougher for ya from here on out.”

Junkrat scoffed.

“Not like I ain’t been through worse, love,” he said, holding up his stump for emphasis.

The nurse only gazed at him with that god awful look of pity. Frustrated, Junkrat turned away from her and scowled.

It wasn’t until a few hours later, that he came to realise exactly what she had meant. But by then, the nausea had turned into vomiting.

…

Junkrat had never felt sicker in his life. Sure, he had suffered radiation sickness as a child, and had many bad colds and flus over his lifetime. And sure, losing his limbs had been a pretty raw deal at the time. But this… this was a whole new type of beast. And it wasn’t pretty.

Junkrat was absolutely miserable, in a way he never had been before. Everything tasted horrible. Even water. Which was just as well, because he couldn’t keep anything down. Junkrat was constantly either puking his guts out, or just on the verge of doing so. It also didn’t help that his mouth had developed sores, making it hurt to swallow. It got to the point where he had to have nutrients and medications given to him through IV for a few days. And because Junkrat wasn’t eating anything, he began to lose weight and his skin took on a sallow pale completion. Then his hair began to fall out. Sometimes in strands, other times in clumps.

Unable to take the sickness anymore, Junkrat started hiding his medication. He was soon found out when a cleaner unearthed them in front of a disappointed nurse. Having been found out, Junkrat had no choice other than to come clean and tell her he couldn’t tolerate vomiting them up anymore. The nurse was surprisingly sympathetic, and let him take his medications through his Hickman line instead.

In all that time, Junkrat had stopped seeing his family. Under no circumstances did he want them to see him like this. So pitiful and weak. Not least of all, Trinket. It would break her heart. No, Junkrat thought, he would endure this alone. No way in hell was he going to ruin their trip to Perth. After all, with all the fun they were having, they probably didn’t even miss him.

…

“I want to see Daddy!” Trinket protested.

“Why won’t he let us see him?” Mykie pondered.

They had planned to go see Junkrat the day of the transplant, but were told he wasn’t feeling well, and to come back when he was feeling better. That was nearly two weeks ago. Two weeks since the girls had last seen their father. It wasn’t like Rat to not want to see his own daughters. Clearly, something was up. Though what, Roadhog couldn’t be absolute. Was he really that sick? The nurses had been pretty vague about how ill Rat was.

“I’ll go talk to him,” he decided, heaving himself out of the hotel chair with his cane.

“Can we come with you?” asked Mykie, as both girls got up to follow him.

“No,” said Hog. “You stay here, I’ll tell you how he is.”

And with that, Roadhog left for the hospital.

…

Suffice to say, the nurses weren’t too happy to see Roadhog when he turned up. They tried everything to turn him away. They told him that Junkrat wasn’t well. That he was resting, and that he didn’t want visitors. Roadhog was having none of it. He was going to see Junkrat, and that was final. And really, who was going to tell him no?

Roadhog stood face to face with the door to Junkrat’s room. Not a peep. Not a sound came through. No giggles, no frustrated ranting, not even a sickly cough. Only silence. Bracing himself, he took hold of the door handle and stepped in.

The room was eerily dark when Roadhog entered. Free of his gas mask, he now donned a surgeon mask. He was still hooked up to his oxygen machine, wearing a Nasal Cannula underneath. Because of how strict the rules around cleanliness had become, Roadhog had had to remove his gas mask, clean his hands, and don a plastic apron and latex gloves.

Roadhog’s eyes wandered to the bed, where he spotted a figure lying fast asleep. Odd. Junkrat wasn’t usually asleep at this time of day. A nurse came in behind Roadhog and made her way over to the bed. She gently shook awake the sleeping form.

“Hey,” the nurse softly whispered. “Ya got a visitor.”

A meek groan came from the figure in the bed. It certainly sounded like Junkrat.

“C’mon,” the nurse said. “We need to do the usual. D’ya need a hand?”

“No,” Junkrat said, his voice almost a whisper. “I got this.”

As Junkrat slowly rose from the bed, the bedclothes that once covered him fell away. Revealing a sight that made Roadhog’s heart stop when he finally got a good look at him. Junkrat looked terrible. No, worse than that. Despite the baggy hospital gown, Roadhog could see how emancipated Rat was underneath it. His arms and legs were like twigs. As he tried to push himself up, he trembled as if on the verge of breaking. His skin was pasty, and Hog swore he had less hair than when he last saw him. He looked like a corpse.

This couldn’t be Junkrat, Hog thought. There had to be some mistake. Perhaps he entered the wrong room. Maybe if he entered another one, he would find his partner. All smiles and laughter. But no, he realised, his heart sinking as the truth came crashing down on him. This was indeed Junkrat, and this was definitely the correct room.

The nurse attached Junkrat’s prosthetic leg and led him over to some scales. Every step he took made Roadhog fear he would stumble and fall. He looked so frail. A word he never thought he would use to describe Junkrat.

Looking at the number on the scales only confirmed what Roadhog knew. That Junkrat had lost an awful lot of weight. The nurse typed in the new weight on a tablet before Junkrat spoke up.

“I need to go back to bed,” he said, his voice raspy.

“That’s fine,” the nurse replied, leading Junkrat back to his bed and detaching his leg.

The door opened behind Roadhog and a couple of IV bags were brought in. He watched as the nurses hung the bags on the IV stand next to the bed, then attached it to Junkrat’s Hickman line. In all that time, Junkrat didn’t say anything. He just lay there and let the nurses do their duties, simply resigning himself to it all. Seeing Junkrat like this, so sickly, so thin, so feeble, Roadhog realised just how much Rat had become a shadow of his former self.

After pressing a few buttons on the IV stand, the nurses turned to Roadhog.

“We’ll leave you two alone for a bit,” one of them said.

With that they both left, leaving Roadhog alone with Junkrat. Roadhog stepped forward, approaching Junkrat’s bedside. Quietly, he sat down in the chair next to him. It was only then, Junkrat noticed his presence. He turned to him, smiling weakly. Roadhog saw dark bags under his eyes.

“Oh, hey Roadie,” he said, hoarsely. “Didn’t see ya there.”

Roadhog didn’t say anything.

“Why the long face, ya big lug?” he said, straining himself to speak. “I feel right as rain”

“Cut the crap,” said Roadhog. “You’re not fooling anyone.”

Junkrat choked, Roadhog saw right through him. Sick, exhausted, he knew the game was up. No point hiding it anymore.

“I can’t take this anymore, Hoggy,” he admitted. “Everything hurts, mate. Me head, me mouth. I can’t brush me teeth ‘cos me mouth‘s got sores. I can’t eat anything, 'cos I’m sick all the time. The pills don’t work. Nothing works. All they do is make me crazy. Er… _crazier_.”

Junkrat forced a giggle. Suddenly, his hand flew to his mouth. Frantically, he gestured towards a paper bowl on the bedside table. Roadhog quickly passed it to Junkrat, who proceeded to choke up bile.

Roadhog only looked on, unsure of what to do or say.

After Junkrat had finished his vomiting fit, he simply stared down into the bowl.

“I shit meself sometimes,” he said.

Roadhog would have found that funny in any other context. Junkrat gave the bowl back to him and brought his hand to his hair.

“Guess Fall season’s come early for me, mate,” he said, disheartened as he fiddled with the few clumps of hair he had left.

“Why don’t you shave it off?” Roadhog suggested.

“… Sure,” Rat sighed. “Might as well.”

Roadhog called for a nurse, who was kind enough to go fetch them an electric razor. After detaching Junkrat from the IV, the nurse and Roadhog helped him into the chair.

Because Junkrat had so little hair by this point, shaving was no problem in terms of time. But with each and every strand that fell, he could feel himself being stripped of his identity. If it wasn’t for how drained he felt, he would have fought and rebelled against it.

Junkrat was handed a mirror to look into once it was all over. He almost didn’t recognise the person who looked back at him. He looked… older. So much older than he really was. Junkrat placed his stump on his now bald head. He felt so naked and vulnerable without his hair.

“Looks good,” Roadhog said, matter-of-factly.

Junkrat just hung his head, not saying anything. He no longer had the energy for witty retorts. With Roadhog’s help, Junkrat moved from the chair back to the hospital bed. He closed his eyes as soon as his head hit the pillows.

“How’re the girls?” he asked.

“They’re fine,” said Roadhog.

“What have they been up to lately?” Junkrat inquired

“I took them to the local national park two days ago,” said Roadhog.

Junkrat felt a twist of envy surge throughout his guts.

“They kept saying it wasn’t the same without you, though,” Roadhog added.

Junkrat looked up at him, surprised.

“Do you want to see them?” Roadhog asked.

“They can’t see me like this,” said Junkrat.

“Who?” Roadhog asked.

“EVERYONE!” Junkrat yelled, “No one can see me. 'Specially the girls.”

“They miss you, y’know,” was Roadhog’s reply.

“Yeah, I bet,” said Junkrat, his sadness palpable.

Roadhog could tell the feeling was mutual.

“I fucking_ hate_ this,” Junkrat rasped, his voice full of disdain. “Fucking shit making me the runt of the pack. Keeping me locked up in here. Keeping me from you and the kids. Keeping me from me bombs. Why won’t it just go away?”

Roadhog just stayed silent, not knowing what to say. What_ could_ he even say to that?

Junkrat’s eyes began to grow heavy. His ranting and raving had drained him of what remaining energy he had. With a heavy sigh, Junkrat drifted off to sleep.

Roadhog sat there for hours, watching Rat’s chest rise and fall. In a way, he was afraid that if he looked away, Junkrat would stop breathing. No. He couldn’t think like that. He couldn’t let his own fears get the better of him. Roadhog had to be the strong one here. For the girls, and for Junkrat. He was the glue holding everything together. And above all else, he wasn’t going to fall apart on them.

Roadhog was violently wrenched from his thoughts, as a thunderous boom reverberated throughout the entire hospital. A sound that Roadhog knew only too well. That sound could only be that of a bomb, followed soon after by gunshots.


	8. Code Black

Stepping out of Junkrat’s room, Roadhog observed the hallway. Dazed patients and scrambling nurses, the hallway was utter chaos. And if Roadhog’s hunch was right, he knew the cause of it. That was when Hog smelt it, gasoline. Of course, it was them. And after all these years they finally came after them. But why?

With no time to think, Roadhog grabbed his gas mask. He had to make sure Junkrat was safe above all else.

…

“WHERE’S JUNKRAT!” a Junker screamed, pointing a sawn-off shotgun at a terrified receptionist.

“Please, I don’t know who you’re talking about!” the receptionist said, through tears.

“JAMISON FAWKES, WHERE IS HE?”

“I… I-I’ll look it up for you,” the receptionist said, quivering.

“FIND HIM!” the Junker yelled, cocking the gun at the trembling receptionist. “Before I blow ya brains out!”

The receptionist typed away frantically at the keyboard, digging through any staff or patient records that bore the name, Jamison Fawkes.

The rest of the Junkers stood guard, making sure the other people in the lobby didn’t get any bright ideas.

Upon finding it, the receptionist showed the lead Junker.

“He’s In A Block, Level 2,” she said.

A sinister grin appeared on the Junker’s face.

“Thanks, sheila,” he said, before shooting her in the chest.

Everyone in the lobby screamed.

…

Exiting the Oncology Unit, Roadhog heard heavy footsteps coming his way. People rushed past, trying to get away from the oncoming attackers. Then they came. A thunderous stampede of deranged Junkers came hurtling down the hallway towards him. Roadhog knew all too well who they had come for. He stood between them and the Oncology Unit, brandishing his cane. The Junkers stopped dead in their tracks.

“Well well well,” one said. “If it ain’t the ol’ Hog himself. Didn’t think the fat cunt would still be alive and kicking.”

“Step aside, Roadhog,” another one said. “If ya know what’s good for ya.”

Roadhog said nothing, he just gripped his cane tighter.

“Seems like yer deaf as well as-“

Roadhog whacked the Junker with his cane before he could finish his sentence. Things went south after that. Roadhog punched and thrashed at the Junkers, using his cane to beat them back. But there was so many of them. And they were all younger and more agile than he was. It didn’t take long before they all managed to dogpile him. One of the Junkers ripped the nasal cannula out from under Hog’s gas mask. Roadhog collapses to the floor, winded. His cane was knocked out of his hand soon after. Roadhog then found several boots slamming into him from all sides. Breathless and beaten down, he could do nothing but let it happen. The Junkers stood over him, triumphant.

“So, this is the infamous Roadhog then,” the first Junker said, stepping over him. “Not much of a decent bodyguard.”

…

”Was that a bomb?” said Mykie, hearing an explosion in the distance.

“There’s smoke coming from the hospital,” said Trinket, looking out of the hotel window.

Mykie rushed to Trinket’s side and peered out at the unfolding carnage. Smoke billowed out from where the hospital was, with sirens wailing in the distance.

“Dad!” Mykie realised, bolting for the door.

…

Junkrat was suddenly awoken by something. Great, the nurses were bugging him again. He turned over and tried to ignore them.

“Fuck off,” he said, groggily.

“Hello, Junkrat.”

That didn’t sound like a nurse.

Hands grabbed Junkrat from all sides and hoisted him off the bed.

“Hey! Let go of me! Get the fuck off me, ya cunts!” he screamed.

Junkrat kicked, writhed, and thrashed at his abductors, fighting them for dear life. But the effects of the cancer treatment had weakened him, making fighting back pretty much impossible. The Junkers hauled him out of the hospital room, past many dead and injured nurses and patients, and out of the Oncology Unit.

Upon seeing the Junkers manhandling Rat, Roadhog forced himself up. But as soon as he did, Roadhog felt a sawn-off shotgun placed to his back.

“You’re coming with us,” a junker behind him growled. “Seems like you could be useful.”

…

Roadhog and Junkrat were both bundled into the back of a beaten-up truck. The truck then sped off, flanked by many old motorcycles.

Mykie and Trinket arrived just as they left.

“Dad! Papa!” Trinket called, having seen them.

“Oh no you don’t!” Mykie said, revving her hoverbike.

Mykie and Trinket sped after them, with several police cars following. Realising they were being chased, the Junkers on the motorcycles opened fire. Mykie swerved her bike aggressively to avoid being hit. Two of the Junkers fell back, trying to get a better shot. Their tactics paid off. Two of the police cars skidded to a halt, having been shot. And soon, the junkers were getting more and more accurate.

At the edge of Perth, one bullet hit Mykie’s bike. This couldn’t go on. No matter how much she wanted to catch up with them, Mykie knew they would get shot if they didn’t stop. With a heavy heart, she swerved the bike to a stop. Both Mykie and Trinket watched as the Junkers sped off into the distance.

“Dad!” Trinket yelled, jumping off the bike and running after them.

“Trinket!” Mykie ran after her. “Trinket, it’s useless.”

“NO… NO!” yelled Trinket, welling up with tears. “DADDY, PAPA!”

She clawed at her sister, thrashing and crying out for her fathers.

“TRINKET!” Mykie barked.

Trinket stopped.

“We can’t just go running after them,” said Mykie. “We tried that, and it didn’t work. We need… we need help from Overwatch.”

“We’ll also need a plan,” came a familiar voice from above.

The girls looked up to see Mercy descend from the sky.

“Where the hell were you!” Mykie shouted at her.

“I had to help the injured,” Mercy explained, calmly.

Mykie took a deep breath. She knew there was no point being angry at Mercy. After all, the Junkers had left a trail of dead and wounded in their wake. A lump formed in her throat. No, this was not the time to cry, she thought.

“Perhaps we… could go through the camera feed” Mykie suggested. “Maybe that will give us answers. And something to do till we get backup.”

“What’s gonna happen to Dad and Papa?” Trinket asked, nervously.

“Your Papa might be able to last a little while without his oxygen. Though, he will find it hard to breathe in the meantime,” said Mercy. “But it’s your Dad I fear for. His immune system is very very weak. As long as the Junkers have him, it’s only a matter of time before he gets very sick. It could kill him.”

“Then we have no time to lose,” Mykie said, getting back on her hoverbike.

“Wait!” Trinket called out to her. “I think I-“

“No time, Trinket!” Mykie replied, speeding off.

Trinket watched on as her sister rode back into Perth, her heart sinking ever further.

“She’s forgotten about me,” she said, dejected. 

She then felt Mercy place a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” said Mercy. “She’s just worried about your parents, that’s all.”

“Everyone forgets about me,” Trinket continued.

“Why don’t we go back to the hospital and see if there’s anything we can still do to help?” Mercy suggested.

Trinket shrugged her shoulders.

“Okay.”

…

The truck and its escort continued to head northeast. It was the sort of truck that, much like Roadhog’s bike, still had rubber wheels. This coupled with the fact that it was an old 2000s model, made the whole ride bumpy and uncomfortable. Roadhog sat with his hands tied behind him, while Junkrat was simply left to lay on the floor. Several Junkers sat on the side bench, watching them. One of which couldn’t seem to stop coughing.

“You sure that’s Junkrat?” asked one of the Junkers. “Don’t look like him.”

“What do ya expect?” another Junker replied. “Them pics we were given are twenty years old.”

“Still,” the first Junker said. “Didn’t think- OI! Stop coughing so loudly will ya!”

The one that had been coughing let out another series of coughs and splutters in response.

“We’re this close to throwing you out the truck, mate,” the second Junker growled.

“Can’t help it,” the offending Junker said. “Ain’t been feeling right for a while.”

“Well, keep your germs to yourself,” the first Junker said.

Yes, Roadhog thought. Please do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this one took so long.


	9. Well, Time To Plan A Rescue Mission

Lúcio, D.va, and Baptiste arrived the next day. As soon as they were spotted, Mykie and Mercy ended their conversations with the police and rushed over to them.

“Jean! Hana! Lúcio!” Mykie cried, running over to embrace them.

“H-hey,” said Lúcio, hugging her back. “It’s alright, kid. We’re here now.”

“Are we glad to see you,” said Mercy, exhausted.

Neither she, nor Mykie had slept a wink last night.

“We got here as soon as we could!” said D.va.

“You two look like you’ve had a long night,” said Baptiste. “Would you like us to take over while you get some rest?”

“No,” Mykie replied, stoically. “Don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anyway.”

“You sure?” asked Baptiste.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mykie assured him.

“Well, I’ll take you up on that offer,” said Mercy. “I must say, it has been a long night.”

“Sweet dreams, Doc!” said Lúcio.

With that, Mercy left.

Trinket watched from afar as Mercy walked away from the group.

“Okay,” Baptiste began. “The first thing we need to do, is to uncover the identities and motives of the people who abducted Mako and Jamison.“

“That’s easy,” said Mykie. “They’re Junkers, and they want Dad’s treasure.”

“How do you know this?” Baptiste inquired.

“‘Cause why else would they break into a hospital and take a sick man from his bed?” Mykie said, exasperated.

“Doesn’t explain why they took Mako,” D.va commented.

“Maybe… maybe they think he might also know where the treasure is,” Lúcio suggested.

“How do you know they were Junkers?” Baptiste asked Mykie.

“I saw them,” she answered. “They were wearing punk clothes and had old vehicles. The sort that still have rubber wheels.”

“Do you have any proof of this?” Baptiste questioned.

“Yes,” said Mykie.

“Show me.”

…

Baptiste, D.va, Lúcio, and Mykie spent the next half hour going over the hospital’s security camera feed.

“Well,” said D.va. “They certainly look like Junkers.”

“Yeah, but which faction?” asked Lúcio.

“Faction?” Mykie queried.

“Yeah,” D.va replied. “The Junkers aren’t just this one big demographic, there’s many of them scattered throughout the Australian outback. There’s many different gangs and settlements, the largest being Junkertown.”

“Dad and Papa come from Junkertown,” came a voice behind them.

Everyone turned and saw Trinket.

“The Junkers must have come from there,” she concluded.

“I appreciate your input, Trinket,” said Baptiste. “But we don’t have any evidence to say for sure.”

“Trinket, don’t interrupt us,” Mykie chastised. “Go read your books over there.”

Trinket’s face fell.

“Hey hey, hold on,” said Lúcio. “Trinket may be onto something.”

“Don’t Jamie and Mako have beef with the Queen of Junkertown?” asked D.va.

“She isn’t the only person they have beef with,” Baptiste pointed out. “They have made many enemies during their days of crime.”

“How did they even know where to find Jamie?” Lúcio thought out loud.

“A good question,” said Baptiste.

“And how did they get to the hospital without the cops seeing them?” Mykie added.

“They must’ve had outside help,” D.va concluded.

“By who though?” asked Mykie.

“That’s what we need to find out,” said Baptiste.

“So… what now?” said Mykie. “We go get them back now, right?”

“No,” said Baptiste. “We need to collect as much evidence as possible, to establish where Jamison and Mako likely are.”

“But we know where they likely are!” Mykie argued. “We don’t have time to go over every bit of evidence. We need to go rescue them _now!_”

“We can’t just go travelling across the outback,” said Baptiste. “The place is heavily contaminated, and is crawling with Junkers. We could get sick, or attacked if we aren’t prepared. We have to wait until we know where we need to go, and until we receive the supplies and equipment that will get us there.”

Mykie clenched her fists tight. No way was she going to wait to rescue her parents until some bureaucrat said they could. She would go find them herself, even without the help of Overwatch. Neither would she let them stop her. Even if she had to fight her way to Junkertown.

…

Mykie spent the next hour or so plotting how she would carry out her plan. For someone used to following orders, just the thought of going behind Overwatch’s back was nerve wracking. Her parents may have been lawless criminals in their time, but she wasn’t. There was so much that could go wrong. But perhaps if she took a few people with her, then maybe she would stand a better chance. She would have more luck with recruiting D.va and Lúcio than she would with Baptiste. He may even report her. She needed to find a way to keep her plans from reaching him.

Mykie then spotted Trinket reading one of her picture books.

“Hey, Trinket?” she said, going up to her.

“Yeah?” Trinket said, looking up from her book.

“I need to tell you something,” Mykie said. “But I need you to keep it secret. You mustn’t tell anyone, understand?”

Trinket nodded.

Mykie checked over her shoulder to see if anyone was listening before she spoke.

“I’m gonna go to Junkertown,” she said under her breath.

“Why are you going to Junkertown?” asked Trinket.

“‘Cause I’m sure that’s where they’re taking Dad and Papa,” said Mykie.

“Can I come?” asked Trinket.

“No,” said Mykie. “It’s too dangerous.”

“But you’re going,” Trinket pointed out.

“Yeah,” said Mykie. ”But that’s why I can’t bring you. ‘Cause I need people who know how to fight.”

“They’re _my_ parents too!” Trinket protested.

“It’s not about that,” said Mykie, defensively. “You can’t come because… well… I can’t bring someone that needs protecting all the time.”

Trinket gazed back wistfully at her younger sister.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’ll talk later,” said Mykie, before running over to D.va and Lúcio.

Trinket turned away, hanging her head in sorrow.

“Hana! Lúcio!” Mykie called out to the pair standing over by a police car.

“Oh hey, Mykie!” greeted D.va. “What’s up?”

“I’m going to Junkertown,” Mykie stated.

“What?” both D.va and Lúcio exclaimed.

“I’m gonna go to Junkertown and get my parents back,” Mykie reiterated.

“By yourself?” asked Lúcio.

“Well, I was hoping you and Hana would come with me,” said Mykie.

“Oh, you’re on!” D.va said, enthusiastically.

“I dunno,” Lúcio said, more apprehensively. “The whole thing seems risky. What if something goes wrong?”

“Oh, c’mon, Lúcio,” begged D.va. “When was the last time we had a proper mission?”

“Please, Lúcio,” Mykie pleaded. “I can’t afford to wait until the higher ups give the go ahead. It may already be too late by then.”

“I mean, I guess… I guess you’re right,” said Lúcio.

“So you’ll come?” asked Mykie.

“I mean, you’ll need someone who knows how to keep everyone motivated,” Lúcio said.

A smile spread across Mykie’s face. She then suddenly embraced him.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“No problem,” Lúcio replied, hugging her back.

“Um… not to interrupt or anything,” said D.va. “But how are we gonna get there?”

“We take the aircraft, of course,” said Mykie.

“Not a good idea,” said Lúcio. “That aircraft has a tracker and an AI autopilot that’s designed to take over, even if it _suspects_ it's being hijacked.”

“What about a truck?” D.va suggested. “There’s plenty of semis being charged up near the outskirts of town.”

“Wouldn’t they have trackers too?” asked Mykie.

“Yeah,” said D.va. “But it wouldn’t be too difficult to disable them. Plus, I’ll be able to bring my mech along with us!”

“Excellent!” said Lúcio. “Er… what about Jean?”

“What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt him,” said Mykie.

…

Just as D.va had said, they found a row of semi trucks parked on the edge of Perth. They were all lined up and fully charged. Perfect.

“Hey! Who are you?” a man in a high-vis jacket asked.

“Um… we’re with Overwatch,” said Lúcio, putting on a confident authoritative voice. “We need one of your trucks.”

“Pardon?” the man responded.

“We need that truck,” D.va chimed in, pointing to the nearest semi.

The man got out a walkie-talkie.

“Hey, Garry. There’s some cunts here who’re telling me they want one of our trucks.”

An audible laughter came from the walkie-talkie.

“Yeah,” the man chuckled. “Shall I tell ‘em to fuck off?”

Just then, the man dropped the walkie-talkie and fell to the floor, holding his crotch. D.va and Lúcio turned to see Mykie standing over him.

“Mykie!” Lúcio exclaimed. “You just attacked a citizen!”

“Never mind that!” yelled D.va. “Come on!”

Everyone rushed to the nearest semi, unplugged it, and drove off. Taking care not to run the poor man over of course.

…

They drove the truck to where the aircraft had landed. And where D.va’s mech was. The next few minutes were agony for Mykie, as they were spent loading what they needed onto the truck. No doubt the man had recovered from his injury and had informed the police. Everything they needed for the journey had been loaded, except D.va’s mech.

“Okay!” D.va yelled from inside. “Let me just manoeuvre this baby, then we’re ready to go!”

“There you are!” came a voice none of them wanted to hear.

“Oh, er… Hi, Jean,” said Lúcio, innocently.

“Do you mind explaining what you are doing?” Baptiste demanded.

“Um… we’re looking into this mysteriously parked truck,” Mykie lied.

“Uh huh,” Baptiste said, skeptically. “By loading Hana’s mech into a stolen vehicle.”

“How did you know about that?” asked Mykie.

“I just got word from the police that three people from Overwatch attacked someone and stole a semi-truck,” said Baptiste. “Do you know anything about that?”

Everyone avoided eye contact with him.

“Please, Jean,” muttered Mykie. “I need to save my Dads.”

“Not like this,” Baptiste stated. “You are to call off this suicide mission, turn yourselves in to the authorities, and return the truck to its rightful owners.”

“_Please_,” Mykie pleaded. “The higher ups are taking too long. If we don’t do anything now, my dads will die! Dad’s immune system is nonexistent. He could get sick!”

“If the higher ups catch us, there could be serious repercussions for all of Overwatch,” Baptiste reminded them.

“Well, we’re going!” stated Mykie. “With or without their approval!”

“Did you just say ‘us’, Jean?” asked Lúcio.

Baptiste sighed.

“This is a stupid idea, and a suicide mission!” he grumbled. “But if you’re going, you’re gonna need a medic.”

“You’re coming?” said Mykie, surprised.

“What did I Just day?” Baptiste demanded. “Now let’s go before the police show up, or I change my mind.”

After loading up the mech and disabling the semi’s tracker, the truck was started up. But just before it drove off, Trinket climbed on board.


	10. You Are Now Entering Junker Country

The road was bumpy. Very bumpy. So much so, that the truck had threatened to overturn a few times. But as uncomfortable as the ride was for Roadhog, it was exceptionally unpleasant for Junkrat. He lay on the floor of the truck in a fetal position, too thin and frail to do much else. Roadhog sat beside him, keeping one eye on him and another on their captors. One of which would not stop coughing.

“Ya keep that up, you’ll end up like him,” the Junker next to the one coughing joked, gesturing to Junkrat.

“Yeah, nah!” the one who had been coughing responded. “Fucking poofter looks like a mangy dog that hasn’t eaten.”

Enraged, Junkrat sat up and attempted to claw at the Junker who had insulted him. But just as he was about to pull the Junker off the bench, Junkrat felt a boot in his side. He fell to the floor of the truck, reeling from the pain. The Junkers laughed.

“Look at him,” one Junker jeered. “Cunt can barely stand, let alone put up a fight!”

He placed a foot on Junkrat, triumphant.

“Got one foot in the grave already,“ he remarked. “Two, given the Queen wants him”.

Roadhog would snap that Junker in two if he could. But being so out of breath, he could do nothing but stare him down instead. The Junker removed his foot from Junkrat with an anxious scoff, not wanting to show how intimidated he really was.

The truck drove on through the rocky terrain towards Junkertown. Flanked by the many bikers protecting it.

…

The semi-truck sped through the Australian outback, following the tracks left by the Junkers. They were many hours behind, but luckily time was still on their side.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked D.va.

“… Er,” Mykie said, sheepishly.

“You mean you don’t have one,” D.va deadpanned.

“Well… I was thinking we go in, kick some ass, get my parents, then get out,” said Mykie. “Didn’t have time to iron out the details.”

“That plan… _could_ use a little work,” said Lúcio.

“An awful lot of work more like,” Baptiste remarked. “We’re heading for one of the most dangerous towns in Australia. We better come up with a plan now. Preferably, one that doesn’t get us killed.”

“I say that when we get there, we scope out the place and try to figure out where Mako and Jamie are being kept,” suggested Lúcio.

“We’ll have to be on our guard,” said D.va. “Even without the latest tech, the Junkers were still able to sneak into Perth and attack a hospital without anyone seeing them.”

“Which is why we don’t underestimate what they’re capable of,” said Baptiste.

“How much further to Junkertown?” asked Mykie.

“It’s the next state over,” said Lúcio. “A days drive at least.”

Mykie’s heart was racing.

“Go faster!” she urged.

D.va slammed on the accelerator.

…

Trinket was beginning to regret hiding in D.va’s mech. 

Trinket lost track of how long she had been hiding, felt like ages ago. Much of her body had already gone numb, and pins and needles had formed whenever she shifted to get comfortable. It also didn’t help that the mech was designed for someone much shorter than Trinket, and the lack of air conditioning only served to worsen the experience for her.

Unable to take the discomfort anymore, Trinket shifted position inside the mech. Suddenly, an alarm went off. Trinket covered her ears and clenched her eyes shut as noise and lights blared from the mech.

“What was that?” Baptiste said, startled.

“Sounds like my mech!” said D.va, equally alarmed.

The truck slowed to a stop and everyone climbed into the semi’s trailer. They crept to the back of the trailer where the mech stood – and immediately drew their weapons upon seeing someone inside.

“Alright! Whoever you are, we know you’re in there!” barked D.va. “Come out with your hands up!”

Everyone stood in stunned silence when they saw who emerged from the mech.

“Trinket?” exclaimed Mykie.

A timid Trinket stood before them with her hands above her head as instructed. Everyone lowered their weapons.

“Trinket!” Mykie marched up to her. “What are ya doing here?”

“Um… I… I wanted to come,” Trinket said, sheepishly.

“Oh no you’re not!” said Mykie. “You’re going back to Perth where it’s safe.”

She turned to the others.

“We need to take her back.”

“Not saying I disagree,” said Lúcio. “But going back will make everything take longer. I don’t think your dads have that much time.”

“Yeah,” said D.va. “We’re already a few hours from Perth anyhow.”

Mykie let out a frustrated groan.

“Alright,” she relented. “But ya better do as we say, and stay out of trouble.”

“Okay,” said Trinket, elated that she was allowed to go with them.

It was a bit of a squeeze now that Trinket had joined them. But once everyone had climbed back into the cabin, the gang continued on to Junkertown. But not long had they got back on the road, smoke started seeping out of the engine.

“Aw, man!” moaned D.va.

Once again, the truck ground to a halt.

D.va and Mykie opened up the hood. Smoke billowed out from the exhausted engine. Everyone covered their faces and swatted at the exhaust fumes. 

“Looks like the engine’s overheated,” Mykie sighed.

“What do we do?” asked Trinket.

“We’re just gonna have to wait for it to cool a bit,” said Lúcio.

“How long will that take?” Baptiste queried.

“Fifteen minutes at least,” answered D.va.

Baptiste looked around, uneasy.

“I don’t like this,” he said. “We’re already deep in Junker country. The less time we stop, the better.”

“Okay,” D.va sighed. “Mykie and I‘ll see if this truck has any coolant anywhere.”

Baptiste used his exo-boost to jump onto the roof of the truck, while Lúcio simply climbed. There, they stood watch.

After finding some coolant, Mykie and D.va got to work cooling the engine.

Trinket meanwhile, spotted a nearby dead tree and made her way over to it. She placed her hand on its rough, dry trunk, looking up into the empty branches. It reminded her of the antlers of a deer.

“Okay!” called Mykie. “Engine should work now!”

“Right!” Baptiste responded. “Let's get moving then!”

But Lúcio wasn’t moving. He stood as still as a statue, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

“What is it?” asked Baptiste. “What do you see?”

“I’m… not sure,” answered Lúcio, straining to see clearly.

Baptiste also squinted to see what it was.

It looked like a lone figure, but the sun was shining too brightly. Suddenly, the figure was joined by others. That was when Lúcio and Baptiste’s hearts stopped. Just as soon as the figures started racing towards them on their bikes, did they realise what they were.

“GUYS, WE’VE GOT COMPANY!” yelled Lúcio.

“EVERYONE, GET IN THE TRUCK!” Baptiste barked.

Lúcio, D.va, Mykie, and Baptiste scrambled over to the truck. The Junkers began firing at them.

D.va, Lúcio, and Baptiste clambered into the cabin and immediately tried to restart the engine. 

“C’mon, c’mon,” growled D,va, frantically trying to get the truck going again.

Mykie looked around frenziedly for her sister. She then spotted Trinket standing next to a dead tree, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. Without thinking, Mykie sprinted over to Trinket.

“C’mon!” she hollered, grabbing Trinket and forcing her to move.

“Get in!” Lúcio yelled.

The two sisters dashed back to the truck just as D.va got the engine going. Mykie closed the door and the truck sped off. But the Junkers weren’t going to give up just like that.

“Faster!” screeched Mykie. “They’re gaining on us!”

“This is as fast as it’ll go!” said Lúcio.

That was when D.va got an idea. She began to take off her seatbelt.

“What are you doing?” asked Trinket.

“Getting those bandits off our backs,” said D.va, before clambering into the semi’s trailer.

The Junker bandits soon caught up and surrounded the truck. They began aiming their fire at the hover wheels.

The doors to the trailer burst open, revealing D.va in her mech. She fired back at the bandits, causing many to flounder and one to fall off his bike. Having seen the mech, the Junkers at the front of the truck tried to remain persistent in bringing it down. D.va used her mech’s boosters to propel it onto the roof of the truck where she would have the advantage. She then unleashed a barrage of rockets on the Junkers. The ones that weren’t knocked off crashed into their fallen comrades. 

D.va whooped before getting her mech back into the trailer.

“We lost them!” she cheered when she got back into the truck’s cabin.

“Will they be alright?” asked Trinket.

“Probably not,” said D.va.

The truck continued on at top speed.


	11. Return To Junkertown

As the sun was setting over the horizon, the old truck and its escorts passed through the gates of Junkertown. The place hadn’t improved in over the twenty years since Junkrat and Roadhog had since lived there. If anything, the place looked even more rundown than last time.

As he and Junkrat were hauled out of the truck, a crowd gathered. No doubt they all wanted to see the infamous Junkrat and Roadhog. The enforcers proceeded to frog march them through the streets. Clearly this was meant to humiliate them.

“Keep moving!” the enforcers barked, shoving them forward.

Hog huffed as he struggled forward. With no cane or oxygen machine to aid him, simply walking was a mammoth task. Junkrat hobbled on his one leg, doing his best not to fall over.

But before long, the Scrapyard loomed before them.

…

Soon enough, Junkrat and Roadhog stood before the Queen. Needless to say, she had aged since they had last seen her. Her face had wrinkles and her hair was a greyer shade of blue. The Queen sat lazily in her throne, eying Junkrat like he was a pile of gold. She then turned her gaze over to Roadhog.

Suddenly, hands shoved Junkrat and Roadhog to the floor, forcing them to their knees.

“Didn’t think I’d see _you_ again, Mako. Must say, you’ve looked better,” the Junker Queen said, looking down her nose at him. “Though, it seems you’ve done well for yourself. What’s it like working with Omnic sympathisers?”

Roadhog glared up at her, but said nothing. Not wanting to show her just how out of breath he was.

“Well, ain’t none of ya gonna say anything, then?” the Queen said. “You both just gonna kneel there and cower like a bunch of pussies?”

“If I may, yer majesty,” Junkrat interjected.

The Junker Queen leaned back in her throne.

“I had _no_ idea how much I meant to ya,” Rat continued. “I mean, sending your goons all the way to Perth to get me. Bringing me back to this shithole. Which looks even shittier than when we got kicked ou-“

Junkrat vomited on the spot. The Queen watched on, disgusted as Junkrat spewed bile all over the floor.

“The twig over there don’t look too good, Mako,” the Queen gestured to Junkrat, who let out a nervous giggle. “He ain’t contagious, is he?”

That was the final straw for Roadhog. He struggled against his bonds, wanting to tear them off and rip the Queen limb from limb. But try as he might, he just had no energy. The Queen chuckled at his attempts.

“You used to be one of me best enforcers one time,” the Queen sneered. “Now look at ya. Either I got lucky, or you’re both softer than I thought.”

Roadhog lowered his head in response. She was right, and he knew it.

“Take ‘em away,” the Queen ordered.

The enforcers grabbed Junkrat and Roadhog before dragging them away to the cells, with Junkrat kicking and screaming.

The Scrapyard cells were usually used to hold kidnapped Omnics, who were used mostly for human Omnic battles. Usually, the unfortunate Omnic didn’t survive, so they had to constantly go out and kidnap any Omnic that strayed too far into the Outback. But occasionally, the cells would also hold human prisoners as well. It was here to which Junkrat and Roadhog were brought.

“Get the fuck off a me ya festy cunts!” Junkrat screamed as he was shoved into a cell.

Weak and with no peg leg to stand on, Junkrat fell to the floor. He glowered back when he heard the enforcers laughing at him.

“Laugh while ya can,” Junkrat said. “‘Cause when I get out of here, you’re dead. Ya hear me? Dead!”

The enforcers snickered.

“You’ll do as you’re told, if ya know what’s good for ya,” one enforcer replied.

Then it was Roadhog’s turn. He was shoved into a cell opposite Junkrat. One enforcer cut Roadhog’s bonds. Suddenly, Hog grabbed the enforcers arm and forced it down. There was an audible snap. The enforcer let out a agonised scream.

“HE BROKE ME FUCKING ARM!” he yelled, his face contorting in pain.

Not wanting to be next, the other enforcers scrambled to shut and lock the door.

“That’s what ya get when ya cross Junkrat and Roadhog!” Rat spat.

Now the enforcers were really angry.

“Shall we question him now?” one asked.

“Yeah,” the one with the broken arm hissed. “_Now_.”

The enforcers opened Rat’s cell and dragged him out again. Junkrat kicked and thrashed for dear life, but it was no use. Roadhog could only watch as his partner was hauled off to a room at the end of the row of cells. The door shut with a clang.

…

“Ugh, what time is it?” asked Mykie, rubbing sleep from her eyes.

“More than enough time for you to have been asleep,” said D.va.

“How far are we from Junkertown?” Mykie inquired.

“Should be another few hours,” said Lúcio.

“Still?” Mykie groaned.

“Afraid so,” said D.va.

Trinket had woken up ages ago. She gazed out at the passing scenery, watching the world go by in silence. She liked it. It soothed her in a way. She watched as they passed loads of rocks, boulders, abandoned houses, dead trees, a man on his motorcycle… wait, why was there a man on a motorcycle? Trinket watched him curiously. The motorcycle didn’t seem to be going any faster that the truck. Suddenly, more appeared.

“Mykie,” Trinket tapped her on the shoulder.

“What is it?” asked Mykie, still groggy from sleeping.

“There’s a load of motorcycles,” Trinket said.

That got Mykie wide awake. Looking out of the side window, her eyes widened when she saw the gang of motorcycles heading their way.

“Guys?” Mykie said, nervously. “Are you sure we managed to lose the bikers from yesterday?”

“Why do you ask?” Baptiste replied, growing anxious.

“I think they’ve found us again,” Mykie answered.

Everyone looked out of the window to see a sight they did not ever want to see. The same bandits from yesterday. They were fewer in number. No doubt they had lost some comrades yesterday. It certainly showed on their faces.

“Hana!” called Lúcio. “Drive!”

D.va floored it.

But the bandits were hot on their heels, and they soon surrounded the truck.

The bandits opened fire, shooting up at the cabin and down at the hover wheels.

Their bullets flew and struck the cabin window and one of the hover wheels, which sputtered and died.

The truck trailer leaned to one side and lurched.

D.va fought to keep the truck as steady as she could, gripping the wheel as hard as her strength would allow her.

The bandits fired again and disabled another hover wheel. Then another, and another.

Once the third wheel was shot, the truck could take it no more. The truck overturned with everyone screaming inside. After skidding to a halt, the truck lay still and silent.

The bandits gathered at the cabin, trying to look inside. The windshield was cracked all over, making it difficult to see in. It seemed like everyone inside was either dead, unconscious, or at least injured in some way. Might as well shoot the cabin though, just in case. The bandits readied their weapons.

With a bang, the windshield shattered into a million pieces. But it wasn’t the bandits that had fired.

That was when a grenade was thrown at the bandits’ feet.

Terrified, the bandits sprinted away just in time for it to go off.

But instead of a loud boom, smoke billowed out of the grenade. Giving the gang enough cover to undo their safety belts and get out. Thank goodness they were wearing them.

Unbeknownst to the others, Trinket was still in the turned over cabin, too shaken to move. She huddled up in a corner out of sight.

Realising they had been tricked, the bandits charged back at them, readying their weapons.

Baptiste immediately deployed his Imortality Field, hoping that it would grant them some protection for a while.

“Everyone, cover me! I need to retrieve my mech,” yelled D.va, already running for the trailer.

Trinket whimpered as she heard the commotion outside. She clung to herself, too scared to move.

Two bandits charged on their bikes, aiming their weapons like a jouster.

Lúcio knocked them back with his Sonic Amplifier, throwing them clean off their bikes.

Mykie took some smoke and flash grenades and lobbed them in the bandits’ direction.

The smoke and flashes caused the bandits much disorientation, causing them to miss their targets.

Mykie would then use her chain whip on them.

Baptiste fired up his Amplification Matrix. Any damage they did to the bandits increased twofold.

But still, they kept coming.

Through the smoke, one of the bandits noticed the drone generating the Immortality Field was unguarded.

The bandit shot at the drone generating the field. The drone exploded before crashing to the ground.

“Immortality Field is down!” said Baptiste. “Hurry, Hana!”

D.va climbed inside the trailer and scrambled to her mech. The mech was on its side and covered in crates and boxes. D.va moved them aside as best as she could. Some were heavier than others. She then climbed inside and fired up her mech. The mech whirred to life and got upright.

“Alright!” exclaimed D.va. “Let’s do this!”

Outside, Mykie, Lúcio, and Baptiste were struggling to keep the bandits at bay. Not least Mykie, who had run out of grenades to lob.

The smoke cleared, revealing their position.

Now exposed, the bandits charged at full force, shooting at them as they got ever closer.

With the Immortality Field down, all they could do was dodge the bullets as best they could.

“C’mon, Hana,” Lúcio pleaded under his breath as another bullet missed him by inches.

The trailer doors burst open, revealing D.va in her mech.

“Hana!” Mykie cheered, more than relieved to see her.

Seeing the bandits, D.va fired up her mech.

“Game on!” she yelled, before firing at the bandits.

Realising they were outgunned, the bandits that weren’t too injured or dead made a run for it.

Realising they had won, everyone cheered.

“Was that it?” D.va asked, disappointed there wasn’t more action.

“Trinket,” Mykie suddenly remembered.

Mykie rushed to the truck’s cabin to see her sister huddled in the furthest corner of the truck.

“Trinket!” called Mykie. “It’s okay, it’s safe. The fight’s over, you can come out now.”

Trinket continued to cower where she was, clearly in shock.

“C’mon sis, it’s okay,” Mykie cooed. “I’m here.”

That seemed to do it. Trinket climbed out of the truck’s cabin and wrapped her arms around her younger sister.

“Hey,” said Mykie, hugging her back. “It’s okay.”

“Well, it would be. If we weren’t stranded in the middle of the Australian Outback with no truck,” said D.va.

This time, it was Mykie’s turn to freak out. After letting go of Trinket, she looked back at the overturned truck, her hands on her head in despair.

“What now?” she said, hoping someone would have an answer. “We need to get to Junkertown. We need to get to Junkertown.”

“First, we need to find shelter and send a distress signal to Overwatch,” said Baptiste. 

“No!” Mykie objected. “We can’t give up now. We’re already mostly there.”

“No, I said from beginning that this was a stupid idea,” said Baptiste. “We should never have gone into the Outback without backup, or a fully thought out plan. It’s thanks to you that we’re now stranded and completely exposed!”

“Oh, so it’s my fault, is it?” growled Mykie.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying-“

“Guys!” Lúcio interjected. “Just chill. Arguing isn’t gonna solve anything.”

“I take it you have a solution then?” Baptiste asked.

“Look, Mykie’s right,” Lúcio said. “We’re at least a day or so’s walk from Junkertown. We can still do this.”

Mykie and Trinket perked up while hearing this.

“And how do you propose we get to Junkertown without transport?” Baptiste demanded.

“We walk, obviously,” said Lúcio.

“With what supplies?”

“These supplies should come in handy!” D.va called from the truck.

Everyone turned to see D.va carrying armfuls of what could only be described as a mishmash of various things. Including water.

“Hana, did anyone ever tell you you’re my favourite person right now?” said Lúcio.

“Aw, that’s so sweet,” said D.va, bumping the supplies in his arms. “Now hurry up and help me with the supplies.”

…

After the gang had loaded as much supplies as they could all carry, Baptiste surveyed the scene. Dead bodies lay everywhere. Baptiste shook his head, how tragic. Even if they were Junkers, it was still an awful loss of life. Wait, was that one still alive? Baptiste went over to have a closer look.

He looked down at a bandit who had an obviously broken leg. Baptiste could see the bone jutting out. The Junker clutched at his leg, rocking back and fourth and trying not to cry. Looking at him, Baptiste was shocked at how young he was. Couldn’t be older than Mykie. Had they just been killing kids? The horror of that realisation was enough to make him sick to his stomach. Steadily, Baptiste approached the injured boy.

“Hey,” he said to get his attention.

The boy looked up, fear and pain in his eyes.

“It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” Baptiste cooed. “Let me have a look a that.”

The boy tried to scramble to get away. Baptiste held his hands up.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I don’t shoot anyone who’s unarmed.”

“How do I know I can trust ya?” the boy hissed through gritted teeth. “You killed me mates!”

“Only because you attacked us!” Mykie replied.

“We didn’t know,” said Lúcio, clearly guilt stricken. “We didn’t know you were just kids.”

“Why did you attack us?” Baptiste asked.

“We need supplies,” the boy answered. “Supplies are hard to come by round here. And the Queen keeps wanting more pay for even less.”

“You’re from Junkertown?” D.va asked.

“Yeah?” The boy said. “What of it?”

“If I heal you, will you take us there?” Baptiste offered.

The boy hesitated for a second. But wanting to be out of pain so badly, he soon nodded.

“What’s your name?” Baptiste asked, as he took hold of the boy’s broken leg.

“Lucas,” the boy answered, nervously.

“Okay, well… Lucas, I’m Jean,” he introduced himself, before putting the leg back in place.

Lucas screamed. Suddenly, Baptiste released a Regenerative Burst. Lucas watched on, stunned as the pain and the wound in his leg faded.

Baptiste got up.

“Need a hand?” Baptiste asked, holding his hand out to him.

Lucas took it.

“How did ya…?” his question trailed off.

“The wonders of modern medicine,” said Lúcio.

“Now,” said Baptiste. “You mentioned you would take us to Junkertown?”

Seeing as they were the ones with the weapons and supplies, Lucas figured it would be best to stick with these strangers. For now at least.

…

After many hours, the door to the room Junkrat had been taken to finally opened. The enforcers dragged Junkrat back to his cell. As they came nearer, Roadhog saw that Junkrat was heavily bruised and sopping wet. There was a far off look in his eyes. 

The enforcers opened the door to Rat’s cell and shoved him inside. Exhausted and shell shocked, Junkrat crashed to the floor. The enforcers jeered as he struggled to get up again. But Junkrat only coughed in response, too weak to retaliate.

“We’ll see ya tomorrow,” one said, threateningly.

The enforcers then left.

Roadhog watched Junkrat from his cell. He was weary. From his own separate cell he could hear Junkrat’s haphazard and almost violent breathing. He could see Junkrat was shivering. Not from cold though. It was more like his body was convulsing rather than trembling. He was definitely in shock, but he was shaking too much for it to be simple trauma.

Junkrat’s breathing soon evened out, and the shivering calmed. He was out like a light.


	12. Is This Some Kind Of Sick Joke?

The sun shone high above the gang as they trekked on foot across the irradiated Australian Outback. Despite being reasonably hydrated, the oppressive heat was taking its toll on everyone. The baked dry ground seemed to radiate its own heat, causing the soles of their shoes to melt. The whole gang were on their guard, keeping watch for any more bandits.

“My feet hurt,” complained Trinket, shuffling as she moved.

“Just keep moving, Trinket, we’re getting there!” encouraged Lúcio.

“You said that hours ago,” said Trinket.

“Only thirty minutes, technically,” said Lúcio.

“Guys,” D.va piped up. “I think my mech is overheating.”

Sure enough, D.va’s mech was starting to emit smoke.

Baptiste looked around at everyone’s almost empty water bottles, then at his own. If they were out in the sun for much longer with no water, they would be in big trouble.

“Okay!” Baptiste called out to everyone. “I say it’s time we found shelter.”

The relief on everyone’s faces was evident. Everyone that was, except Mykie.

“Do we have to?” she asked, clearly disappointed.

“You wanna get heat stroke?” Lucas asked, callously.

Mykie glared at him.

“There’s shade over there,” said Trinket, pointing towards a massive bolder.

…

Once they reached the bolder, everyone settled down to get some rest. But as she was unable to settle, Mykie decided she would take the first watch.

Two hours passed before Trinket woke up. The sun had gone down a bit, but was still too hot. Trinket looked to see most of the gang huddled together, fast asleep. Lucas slept separately from the others. Still not fully trusted, he wasn’t allowed to to keep watch, or go near D.va’s mech and the supplies.

Then Trinket saw Mykie. Strange. How come she was still on watch? Mykie was sitting in a fetal position with her back turned, her head resting on her knees. She looked miserable.

Concerned for her sister, Trinket got up and approached Mykie.

“Hey, Mykie,” greeted Trinket, sitting down next to her.

“Oh, hi,” Mykie said, her voice dejected.

“What’s wrong?” asked Trinket, noting the gloom in her sister.

Mykie didn’t say anything.

From afar Lucas had woken up. Curious, he decided to listen into their conversation, eyes closed and pretending to sleep.

Not knowing what else to do, Trinket rested her head on Mykie. Her way of trying to comfort her. Mykie sighed.

“I’m worried,” she finally said. “This rescue mission is taking forever. I thought that by cutting through all the red tape bullshit, it would make things go faster. But it hasn’t. If anything, it’s made things take longer. Who knows what that bitch has done to them?”

Lucas chuckled slightly.

“And what about Dad?” she added. “His immune system is shot. He could be dying for all we know, if he isn’t already. I’ve fucked up, Trinket.”

Mykie’s anxiety’s grew the more she thought about it.

Trinket thought about what Mykie had said. It troubled her. Trinket was so used to Mykie being sure of herself. The fact that she wasn’t made Trinket’s chest feel heavy.

“I’m worried too,” she admitted.

Lucas silently sat up and watched them curiously. The way these girls talked to one another, the gentleness in their voices, was like nothing he had ever heard before. No one talked like that in the Outback. Not unless you wanted a target on your back. It stirred something in him. Something he hadn’t felt since he was a small child. A longing. A longing for something he had never had. Not even from his own mother.

Mykie gave a rueful smile.

“I just… hope we get there in time,” she said, though a part of her sounded unsure.

“Me too,” said Trinket, leaning further into her.

…

Junkrat could feel the cold, murky water all around him. It engulfed his face and drew what little breath he had right out of him. His lungs now empty, cried out for more air. But with none available, Junkrat began to panic. Even now, the enforcers still weren’t allowing him up for air. If he didn’t get air soon, he would surely drown. Frantically, he struggled against the enforcer holding his head in a barrel of water. But still, they held him down. No longer able to hold his breath, Junkrat gasped. The water that filled his lungs was like hot lava. It was in his eyes, in his nose, in his mouth. The panic he felt before was nothing compared to the sheer primal terror that engulfed him. The pain in his lungs and gut was unreal. The corners of his eyes began to darken. Somewhere in the distance, a heavy metal door slammed open. And with that, Junkrat was pulled from the water.

Junkrat coughed, and coughed, and coughed, and coughed, and spluttered. Water leaving his lungs and air flowing back in. The air burned his throat and lungs, making it hurt to breathe. But nonetheless, his body compelled him to gasp for air.

Once Junkrat had finished his coughing fit, he looked up groggily to see the Junker Queen standing in the doorway. Needless to say, she didn’t look happy.

“And just _how much_ have you gotten out of him?” she yelled, storming into the room.

“Just give it some time, he’ll talk,” one of the enforcers said.

“You said that yesterday _and_ the day before that!” the Queen said. “_When_ am I gonna see results?”

“Sorry, Sheila, but ya ain’t gonna-“

Junkrat coughed and hacked, spitting up mucus that was red in colour.

Rat then felt a boot in his side.

“Oi, shut the fuck up!” yelled one of the enforcers.

“I shoulda known you lot were being soft on him,” the Junker Queen remarked. “I am through with waiting for you two to come up with the goods. I want results, and I want them _TODAY!_”

With that, the Queen stormed out, slamming the door behind her.

The enforcers turned to Junkrat with renewed anger.

…

From his cell, Roadhog heard everything. The screams, the whimpers, and the pleadings from Junkrat. As well as the sneers and jeers from the torturers. Hog’s blood ran cold as he imagined what they were doing to him down the hall. The fact that he could do nothing about it, made it all the more worse.

…

The door down the hall opened, and the enforcers dragged Junkrat out. But Junkrat didn’t struggle this time. The enforcers dragged his limp body along the floor all the way to his cell. The guards then dumped Junkrat on the floor, like a rag doll. Junkrat didn’t get up.

From his cell, Roadhog looked for any signs of life. When he saw Rat move, relief flooded through his system. Junkrat was alive. But his relief was short lived when Junkrat began coughing again.

Several hours later, and Junkrat still hadn’t stopped coughing. Worse still, he had begun to shiver, yet was also sweating.

“Hey… R-Roadie,” Rat stammered between heavy, painful breaths. “I… I sh-sh-showed ‘em… Showed ‘em… real g-good.”

He tried to laugh, but all that came out was more coughing. The sheer amount seemed to be making his lips and fingers turn blue.

“It’s… c-cold in h-here… Ain’t i-it, Roadie?” Junkrat commented.

It wasn’t. The cells had no air conditioning, making them quite hot and stuffy. Why he would be cold in such a place confused Hog.

“Roadie?” Junkrat called out. “R-Roadie… you… there?”

Rat’s voice was slurred, almost like he was drunk. His eyes lolled around in his head.

“I’m here,” Roadhog said through his own heavy breathing, hoping that would somehow help.

“Roadieee,” Junkrat rasped. “W-Where… are ya?”

“Don’t speak,” Hog said. “Deep breaths.”

“I’m… c-cold, Roadie… S-So cold.”

Roadhog said nothing. There was no point trying to talk to Junkrat. He was clearly becoming ever more delirious. All Roadhog could do was sit there and watch as his partner deteriorated.

…

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon, the gang were getting ready to settle down for the night. They had found an abandoned farmhouse a few miles from Junkertown. A farmhouse that had long since been raided and stripped bear, but would make a good enough shelter for the night.

The floor of the house was hard and uncomfortable, so Trinket decided to use her trench coat as a makeshift bed. That was when she saw a mirror in one corner. The mirror was dusty and broken, but nonetheless, Trinket approached it. Lifting up her shirt to reveal her chest scar. The scar was horizontal, looking like a straight line down the middle of her chest. She had always had that scar for as long as she could remember. Placing a hand on the scar, Trinket thought back to her early childhood. She remembered the many surgeries and hospital appointments she had on her heart. She had been born with a poorly heart is what her Dad had told her. She hated the surgeries. Hated how sore they would make her. Trinket remembered her Dad struggling not to cry back then. He would always threaten the doctors and nurses if they got too close. She remembered how protective her Dad was back then.

Trinket heard footsteps and promptly pulled her shirt back down. She turned and was surprised to see D.va.

“Hey,” greeted D.va.

“Hey,” Trinket returned the greeting.

“You should probably get some rest,” said D.va.

Trinket averted her gaze to the floor.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” asked D.va, perplexed.

“What’s wrong with me?” Trinket suddenly asked.

“What do you mean?” asked D.va, confused.

“Why is everything so difficult for me?”

“Because…,” D.va struggled for an answer. “Because… you’re special!”

“Special?” Trinket echoed.

“Yeah!” said D.va. “Nothing’s wrong with you. Now get some sleep.”

Trinket went to sleep that night, unsatisfied with D.va’s answer.


	13. We Want The Queen!

The walls of Junkertown jutted out of the landscape like sharp uneven teeth. That was the sign the gang saw that they were finally there. Not wanting to give the Junkers a reason to fight them, D.va hid her mech in one of the abandoned buildings. The sun cast long shadows across the landscape, making the gates of Junkertown appear larger and more ominous than usual. It was quite intimidating to say the least.

“Okay,” said D.va, looking at the closed gates. “How do we get in?”

“Oi!” came a gruff voice from above. “Who are you lot?”

“Greetings!” said Baptiste, stepping forward. “We are some weary travellers who have been trekking for two days in the hopes of getting here in one piece.”

“Yeah? And why are ya here?” the voice asked.

“We are here to seek audience with the Queen of Junkertown!” announced Baptiste.

Several voices chuckled.

“And what business do ya have with the Queen?” a different voice asked.

“None of _your_ business!” D.va spat.

“Well if it’s none of our business, it’s none of her’s neither,” the voice said.

“Wait, you’re not gonna let us in?” said Lúcio, outraged.

“Not unless ya tell us why ya want in,” the voice jeered.

“Look,” Mykie piped up. “We’re just here to negotiate with the Queen.”

“On what?” the voice pressed further.

“Well,” said Lúcio, hoping some smooth talk would work. “Your lovely Queen has a few friends of ours cooped up who we’d like to have back. We’re here to make some negotiations with her, in exchange for our friends of course.”

There was a roar of laughter from the watchtower where the voices came from. Suddenly, the large cogs that held the gate shut started turning.

“Good luck!” one of the voices snickered. “You’re gonna need it!”

The gang stepped inside.

Entering Junkertown was like stepping into a third world country. The place was a filthy, dusty, rusting, cobbled together shanty town. A slum in any other words. Everywhere they looked, there was nothing but decrepit buildings built from the remains of the Ominum. And whatever else they could find. The place stank as well. Mostly of oil, but there was likely an open sewer somewhere. The people looked just as run down as the town they lived in. Many wearing nothing but rags and old clothes. Beggars littered the streets, hunkering down in whatever shade was available. Having seen the amount of wealth in the coastal towns and cities, the stark contrast between them and Junkertown was simply appalling.

As the gang walked through the town, all eyes fell on them. The looks they got were dirty to say the least. Suspicious even. They could tell the newcomers were not local.

“I don’t like this place,” whispered Trinket, holding on to her sister. “Everyone looks mean.”

“Just don’t look at them,” said Mykie, looking straight ahead.

The gang continued on past the Take Away. As they rounded the corner, they were met with an awful sight. At first the gang weren’t sure what they were looking at. It just sort of looked like a group of men crowded around something. But then they saw what what they were crowded around, and why. A man curled up on the ground, while many boots slammed into him from all sides. The gang watched in horror as the group of spiky armoured men continued to pummel the man on the floor. They all looked around at the townsfolk. Why had no one intervened? Everyone was either egging them on, or looking the other way.

“Hey!” called Lúcio, stepping forward.

“Don’t!” barked Lucas, holding him back. “They’ll beat you too.”

“Maybe that’s a risk we’ll have to take,” said D.va.

The three of them marched up to the thugs, forcing themselves between them and the man they had been beating.

“Stop!” cried Lúcio. “That’s enough!”

Angered that their beatdown was interrupted, one of the thugs pulled a knife. Suddenly, the barrel of Baptiste’s Biotic Launcher was pressed against his head.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Baptiste said, threatening to squeeze the trigger.

For a while, there was a stalemate.

“You’re not from ‘round here, are ya,” one of the thugs stated.

“You could say we’re from out of town, yeah,” D.va replied.

“Why are you beating this man?” Mykie demanded.

“Ain’t none of your business, sheila,” another thug said.

“Well, now you made it our business,” Baptiste said, cocking the Biotic Launcher.

“Cunt hasn’t payed his taxes,” the thug with the gun to his head replied. “The Queen is owed, and we’re getting what’s due.”

“So, you beat him?” said Mykie.

“Yeah?” The thug answered, like it was obvious. “How else do ya make people to pay their share when they don’t?”

Everyone looked at the thugs with disgust.

“Hey, er… look,” Lúcio stepped in. “What if we payed the dude’s taxes for him? Will ya stop beating him up?”

“Yeah!” D.va agreed, reaching for her earnings.

Soon, everyone was digging through pockets and taking off jewellery to give to the thugs. Baptiste meanwhile, used his last remaining healing projectiles and regenerative bursts to patch up the man who had been hurt pretty badly. Baptiste then helped the man to his feet.

Satisfied with their collection, the thugs turned to leave.

“Consider yourself lucky, mate. Next time you might not be so fortunate.”

“Thanks, mate,” the man said, before bolting in the opposite direction.

“Hey, wait!” Lúcio called out to the thugs. “You guys said you work for the Queen?”

The thugs turned back.

“Yeah?” one of the thugs said, immediately suspicious. “What of it?”

“Well, it’s just, we’ve come all the way here to see her. You guys think you can fix up a meeting with her, or something?” Lúcio asked.

The thugs burst out laughing.

“Why the fuck would she wanna see you?” one of the thugs sneered.

“Oh, c’mon, mate,” another said. “Let ‘em see her. It’ll be a right hoot.”

“Alright then,” the other thug said with a smirk, then turning to the gang. “Right this way.”

…

“Who are these people? And why did you let them in here?” the Junker Queen asked, annoyed that she had to converse with these strangers.

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Baptiste stepped forward. “We thank you for taking time out of your day to talk.”

The Queen sat back in her throne, already bored.

“Allow us to introduce ourselves” Baptiste continued, undeterred. “We’re here on behalf of Overwatch, to reclaim the agents you abducted. We ask that you safety return these agents, and grant us safe passage out of Junkertown.”

The Queen returned the speech with unmoved silence.

“Throw ‘em out,” she finally said.

The enforcers moved to do so.

“H-Hey, wait!” Lúcio pipped up. “What if we traded? We have weapons, some high tech! Some that can heal even!”

“You have nothing of value worth trading,” the Queen scoffed. “Not anything nearly as valuable as what Junkrat’s got hiding.”

“Please, Your Majesty,” Trinket pleaded. “Please let my dads go. I love them. I need them. Please?

The Junker Queen burst out laughing. Trinket’s face fell.

“If you think coming here and grovelling to me will get ya anywhere, then you’re as dumb as your old man. Perhaps even dumber.”

Trinket’s eyes welled up with tears. She stood there, clutching herself, shivering in terror.

Mykie marched over to Trinket and embraced her tightly.

“Leave me sister out of this, she’s done nothing to you!” Mykie yelled, her face full of rage.

“Watch it, child,” the Junker Queen growled. “That kind of attitude ‘round here is bad for your health.”

“Better that than picking on those who can’t fight back,” Mykie taunted. “Better that than sending thugs to do your dirty work. Like the fucking coward you are!”

“What did you just call me?” the Queen snarled.

“Mykie, stop!” pleaded D.va.

“You heard me!” Mykie continued, ignoring her. “Only a coward would do the things you’ve done!”

The fallout of that statement was palpable. You could cut the atmosphere with a knife. The Junker Queen clenched her fists, trembling with fury. To accuse a Junker of cowardice was bad enough in of itself. But to accuse the Queen herself, was a death wish.

“KILL ‘EM!” the Queen barked to her enforcers.

“Run!” yelled D.va.

The gang turned and fled from the Scrapyard, with the enforcers hot on their heels.

…

The gang waited behind the stage in the wolf Wood’s pub. Luckily, the place was mostly empty, and those that were there were too drunk to speak. When the enforcers gave up and left, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. They waited a few more minutes to be sure they were gone before coming out of hiding.

“Okay,” Baptiste murmured, not wanting to be overheard. “We‘ve tried the peaceful route-“

“Told ya it wouldn’t work,” Lucas cut in.

“Well, it could have if _someone_ hadn't run their mouth,” Baptiste continued, glaring at Mykie who lowered her head in shame. “So now, we need a new plan. Asking didn’t work, so now we’ll need to be a little more, forcefully persuasive.”

“Ooh, I like where this is going!” D.va said, jumping with enthusiasm.

As the others talked, Trinket rested her head in her arms. She looked miserable.

“What’s wrong, Trinket?” asked Mykie, concerned.

“She’s right,” Trinket said, wistfully.

“Who is?” Mykie questioned.

“The Queen,” said Trinket. “She’s right.”

“About what, Trinket?” asked Lúcio, having also noticed.

“That I’m stupid,” Trinket said, gazing off into nothingness.

For a while, there was silence.

“Well, she’s wrong!” said Lúcio. “You’re not stupid. She’s just a bully that gets off on hurting people.”

“Then why do I believe her?” Trinket asked, dejected.

“Because she’s fuck face, that’s why,” assured D.va.

This made Trinket crack a smile.

“See?” said Lúcio. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Baptiste cleared his throat suddenly, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

“Anyway,” Baptiste said. “I was thinking that Hana could provide a distraction while the rest of us sneak in.”

“Sounds good to me!” D.va said, making finger guns and laser sounds.

“Now, we don’t know what condition Jamison and Mako are in,” Baptiste pointed out. “Which is why it’s important that we stick together and try not to get shot. Much of my tech is already damaged or running low. Two casualties are more than enough.”

“Um… not to be pessimistic or anything,“ said Lúcio. “But there’s just one little problem.”

“And what’s that?” Baptiste asked.

“How’re we gonna find them?”

“In the dungeons,” said Trinket.

Everyone turned to her, confused.

“Um… I don’t follow,” said Lúcio, scratching his head.

“She’s a Queen,” said Trinket. “All Queens live in castles. So that must’ve been her castle. So there must be a dungeon somewhere.”

Mykie’s eyes lit up as she realised.

“Did you get that from your books, Trinket?”

“Yeah,” she answered with a hint of pride.

“But where is the dungeon?” Baptiste pondered.

“In the deepest, darkest part of the castle,” said Trinket.

“How do we get there, though?” asked Lúcio.

“I’ll take ya there,” came a voice behind them.

Everyone turned around and were surprised to see the man from earlier. He still looked shaken and worse for wear, but he was mostly okay. Lucas was standing next to him. Clearly, he was the one to have brought him over.

“I know the Scrapyard,” the man confessed. “Know every part of it. I’ll take ya to your friends, for something in return of course.”

“Why do you want to help us?” Baptiste asked, sensing how wrong this all was.

“You saw how them bastards knocked me around back there,” the man stated. “S’been like that ever since the Queen put up her taxes. Hardly no one can make ends meat nowadays.”

“So, you wanna get back at the Queen,” D.va realised.

“Pretty much,” the man confirmed.

“And how do we know we can trust you?” asked Mykie, unconvinced.

“Ya can’t,” the man answered. “Can’t trust anyone ‘round here. But if ya want ya friends back, you ain’t got much choice.”


	14. Two Mechs Enter, One Mech Leave!

_Later that day_

Several Junkers lounged about in the guard tower, trying to soldier through the hot sun. But instead of doing their duties as watchmen, most of guards were engrossed in their game of Street Craps, while the others napped or looked on. One Junker rolled the dice. A three. Everyone laughed and heckled him for getting such a losing score. Another Junker took the dice and rolled it. A seven. Jackpot! The whole room group cheered and congratulated the winner.

“Will you lot shut up! I’m trying to sleep!” one Junker yelled in annoyance from his deckchair.

“Go sleep in a ditch, then!” one of the gamblers jeered, placing more money on the table.

Everyone else burst out laughing.

“Bunch of piss takers, the lot of ya,” he murmured, pulling his hat further over his head to block them out.

“Don’t spit the dummy!” another Junker said.

The others laughed some more before going back to gambling. As the next Junker rolled the dice, the other that was napping heard something. It wasn’t anything immediately alarming, but it was enough to acquire his attention.

“Oi!” he called out to the others. “Keep it down, will ya?”

“Look,” one of the gamblers said, irked. “Go sleep somewhere-“

“Just shut up for a second!” the Junker in the deckchair said, gesturing for quiet.

The watchtower fell silent. Then they heard it. A rhythmic clunking sound. The sound of something mechanical on hard ground. Like that of a bot. Or an omnic. Immediately, the Junkers abandoned their game and gathered up their weapons. They aimed them at where the sound was coming from. The clunking sound got louder as whatever was coming their way seemed to be getting closer. Sweat dripped from their foreheads as they waited in anticipation.

But what they saw was the last thing they had expected in such a vast wasteland. A bright pink shiny mech. Now, it wasn’t as if there weren’t mechs in Junkertown. But this mech was clearly far more advanced than anything they had. Not a hint of rust on it. But that also meant there was someone inside. With this knowledge, the Junkers relaxed a little, but still kept their weapons on it.

“Oi!” one called out. “Who are you then! Get out of that mech so we can see ya!”

“No chance!” came a woman’s voice from the mech, before unleashing a barrage of fire.

“GET DOWN!”

The Junkers ducked as the fire from the mech missed them by inches.

The mech turned one of its guns on the cogs above the sign for Junkertown that kept the gate in place.

With the burst of a few rounds, the gate fell open with a deafening clang.

“She’s opened the gate!” a Junker guard cried.

“Don’t let her in!”

Unbeknownst to the guards however, several figures had been waiting at the base of the wall for this exact moment.

“Okay, everyone in!” Baptiste said over the gunfire.

While the guards were distracted, everyone snuck in through the gate.

The whole of Junkertown was in chaos. People scrambled to get away from the fight, while enforcers with weapons raced towards it.

“Where the fuck were ya?” was the first thing to come out of the Junker’s mouth.

“Nice to see you too,” Lúcio said, cheerfully.

“No time for tact,” the guide said, looking out for enforcers or anyone who would tell on them. “This way!”

The guide led them through the chaos to the Scrapyard, leading them in through a side door. Likely used by the enforcers.

D.va fought to keep the guards and enforcers at bay. There were so many of them, and there were many more coming her way. She didn’t know how much longer she could hold them back. Any minute now, they would bring her mech down. Then who knows what they would do to her?

“Stop fighting! Put yer weapons down!” came the Queen’s voice over some old speakers.

And just like that, the Junkers stopped.

To say that D.va didn’t breathe a sigh of relief would be a lie. But her alleviation was short lived. A clunking sound could be heard from within the walls of Junkertown. The enforcers parted ways, revealing a mech. It was crude and mean looking, complete with a buzz saw. Which the pilot wasn’t afraid to show off.

“Kill that mech pilot!” The Queen barked. “And if ya find anyone with them, kill ‘em too!”

D.va gripped the controls tightly, adrenaline flooding her system. Whatever it took, she would buy her friends as much time as possible. Even if her precious mech got hacked to pieces with her inside it.

“Game on!” yelled D.va, firing up her thrusters.

The Scrapyard and Royal Perth Hospital had one thing in common with one another. Both were designed to have you get lost in them. The corridors twisted and turned, disorientating the gang. If it wasn’t for their guide, there was no way they would be able to find their way out again. That was assuming that he could be trusted. Which the gang, barring Trinket, certainly didn’t. Much of the Scrapyard was unguarded. Which wasn’t too odd, considering D.va was making plenty of noise at the gates. But it still felt like something wasn’t right. Like they were being led into a trap of some sorts. But eventually, they came across a door that led to a long corridor with holding cells down each side. They opened the door apprehensively, making sure there were no guards. There, they found Junkrat and Roadhog. And needless to say they both looked terrible. Especially Junkrat. But in the spur of the moment, that didn’t matter to Mykie and Trinket.

“Daddy! Papa!” Trinket rushed into the long corridor.

“Papa!” Mykie darted to Roadhog’s cell, reaching out to him through the bars. “Papa, it’s me! Are you alright?”

Roadhog looked up at her in awe. Could it really be?

“Mykie?” Roadhog said, astonished.

“It’s me, Papa,” said Mykie, tears in her eyes.

Hog took Mykie’s hand and he knew. He knew it wasn’t him going crazy. His daughter was here! But how?

“You betcha it’s us!” Hog heard Lúcio say, before he appeared at his cell. “C’mon, we’re here to bust you out!”

That would explain things, Hog thought. He then saw Baptiste and two other people he had not seen before. Who were they? Never mind, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he and Rat were finally getting out of this hellhole.

“Daddy?” Trinket said, nervously.

Everyone turned to her.

They saw Trinket kneeling in front of Junkrat, who was curled up on the floor of his cell. A loud hoarse wheezing echoed across the corridor. And he was shivering, as if he was cold. Despite the place being a sauna.

“Daddy?” she called out again, reaching out to him through the bars.

All Trinket got in return were confused, incoherent mutters.

“Er… What’s up with Jamie?” asked Lúcio, concern growing for his friend.

“Papa?” Mykie turned back to Roadhog. “What did they do to Dad?”

“Everyone get back!” Baptiste ordered.

He kicked and kicked at the lock on Junkrat’s cell door until it broke. Baptiste rushed into Rat’s cell. Crouching down to examine Junkrat, Baptiste took in the awful sight before him.

“Jamison?” Baptiste called out, tapping Rat to get his attention. “Jamison, can you hear me?”

Junkrat didn’t acknowledge him, continuing to shiver on the floor. His breathing was quick and hoarse, as if his throat was sand paper. And worst of all, he looked blue. Particularly his lips and fingers. His hollow eyes lolled in the back of his head, as he continued to mutter the same phrase.

“Roadie… Roadie… Where are ya?”

Baptiste placed a hand to Junkrat’s forehead.

“Merde!” Baptiste swore under his breath.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Mykie asked, anxiously.

“This is bad – very bad,” Baptiste said, “He’s dangerously sick. We need to get him and Mako out of here, now.”

A choked shriek tore through their focus.

Turning to see the source, everyone was met by the sight of their guide being chocked with a chain around his throat. The Junker enforcers held the guide tightly.

“Thought we wouldn’t see ya sneak in here, did ya?” one enforcers sneered. “Thought you wouldn’t get caught?”

“Er… hey, c’mon, guys. Let him go,” Lúcio tried to reason with them.

But the enforcers simply brought a gun to the head of the terrified guide, then blew his head off.

Trinket screamed.

Hearing her cries, the enforcer with the gun turned it on Trinket to silence her.

But just as he was going to pull the trigger, a chain wrapped around his arm. The enforcer yelped as the chain forcefully yanked his arm to the side, causing him to miss his aim.

That was when chaos erupted.

…

D.va fought to keep the other mech at bay. The other mech charged at her, buzz saw and pincer at the ready.

D.va tried to dodge it, but the other mech latched onto her, pinning her against the wall.

Alarms blared as sparks and fluids began to leak from the mech.

The other mech thrusted its buzz saw at D.va, trying to cut into the cockpit. The pincer crushing one of the guns.

Under any other circumstances, D.va might have set her mech’s reactor to self-destruct by now. But as she was pinned against a wall, there was no way for her to get out.

Suddenly, the buzz saw broke through the windshield. D.va screamed as the buzz saw cut into her arm, coming close to severing a main artery. If she didn’t turn the fight in her favour soon, she was as good as dead.

“What’s taking you so long?” The Queen demanded, clearly frustrated. “This isn’t the Scrapyard. Kill her!”

This seemed to distract the other mech pilot somewhat. Enough for D.va to free herself from the wall. Ejecting herself from the mech, D.va stepped back as fast as she could.

“Nerf this!”

Both mechs and the pilot within exploded in a ball of green light, with the other Junkers looking on in astonishment. D.va held her bleeding arm, triumphant.

…

Under fire, the gang was pinned down. The enforcers were closing in – and they were cornered.

Trinket watched on, unsure of what to do. She looked around at the chaos unfolding around her and knew she had to do something. Trinket looked for something, anything that could be used as a weapon. She then saw a bar on the ground that had come from Junkrat’s cell. Picking it up, she rushed over to Roadhog and began to bash the rusty lock on his cell. With a few heavy swings, the lock broke open.

Trinket then heard footsteps coming her way. She turned and ducked just as a crowbar swung at her.

Trinket swung back, hitting the man in the shins. The Junker cried out in agony.

Enraged, the Junker swung the crowbar down, only for Trinket to block him with her bar.

She didn’t know how she was doing it. Her reaction time was never this fast. But something was keeping her from getting beaten to death by this brute.

The Junker forced the crowbar downward.

Trinket, being physically weaker, could do little to stop him.

Seeing the fear in her eyes brought glee to her opponent. He knew she couldn’t keep up with him much longer. He was bigger, and stronger. Just a little more time and he would beat her.

That was when he felt large hands grab him from behind. Dropping his crowbar, the Junker screamed as he was lifted up and tossed across the room, hitting the bars on the other side.

Trinket turned away from the sight to see who had just relieved her of her opponent.

“Papa?”

Roadhog stood outside the doorway of his cell, leaning on the bars out of breath. But there he stood, proud almost.

“Papa!”

Trinket raced over and embraced him, so happy to be reunited with him. Roadhog huger her back, tenderly.

Suddenly, Trinket heard a pained yelp.

Trinket turned and saw her sister. The fear and lost look she had nearly paralyzed Trinket. Her sister had never looked like this. It was terrifying to see Mykie losing control of herself. Trinket watched as Mykie fell to the ground, with the Junker she was fighting about to land the killing blow.

With Roadhog exhausted, Trinket knew it was up to her to save her sister.

Picking up the crowbar, Trinket rushed up behind the Junker and swung. The Junker collapsed to the floor, his head bleeding.

Trinket stood over the body of the Junker she had just hit. The shock of what she had just done permeating throughout her.

She had just killed someone.

Sure, he _was_ going to kill her sister, but that didn’t change the fact that she had been the one to have ended his life. Her hands trembled. They felt cold and her chest was hollow. Was she heartless? Did she really do this? How could she? Even if it was to protect Mykie, it couldn’t be right… right?

“Trinket?”

Trinket saw Mykie looking up at her with bewilderment.

Trinket dropped the crowbar and helped her sister to her feet. Just then, Trinket wrapped her arms around her sister tight, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Thanks for saving me,” whispered Mykie.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out behind her. Baptiste had finished off the last of the enforcers. But he didn’t seem as phased by his actions as Trinket. Instead, he rushed back into Junkrat’s cell, scooping him up and placed him on his shoulders fireman style.

“We need to leave, _now_!” he yelled, before rushing out and down the corridor.

Everyone followed suit, with Mykie and Lucas supporting Roadhog.

The gang marched back down the maze of corridors. Baptiste took the lead, making sure to stay close for support. With a speed boost from Lúcio, they rushed as fast as they could to the exit. But in no time at all, they were face to face with the Queen herself, with many enforcers behind her. Needless to say, she was fuming.

“Deal with them!” she barked, her voice cold and thin on patience.

Just then, Baptiste stepped forward with Junkrat on his shoulders.

“Listen!” Baptiste begged. “You have to let us go.”

“And why the hell would I do that?” the Queen asked, glaring at him.

“Because, can’t you see? He’s sick, _really_ sick! We need to get him to a hospital!” Baptiste said, desperately.

“What makes you think I care?” she asked with an amused grin. “As long as Junkrat tells me what I want to know, he could shrivel like a dried corpse for all I care.”

“He’s not _going_ to tell you where the treasure is!” Baptiste countered. “He’s not capable of telling anyone _anything_! For all you or I know, he might well be dying.”

Trinket gasped, dismay and trepidation in her eyes. Mykie’s look was far more… shock, anger, and denial all wrapped in a confused package.

“Bottom line! If you don’t let us go,” Baptiste continued. “You’ll have nothing but a corpse, and no treasure to show for it!”

“Mako could know!” the Queen lashed back, a hint of uncertainty in her voice.

“Do you really want to bet on that?” Baptiste asked. “Because if you lose, you lose big time. At least if you let us go, the treasure’s location won’t be lost for good.”

The Junker Queen ran her hands through her spiky hair, trying to think of some way to turn the tables back in her favour. She was not willing to just admit defeat in front of her enforcers. She was not going to appear weak in front of them. But she wasn’t stupid either. Try as she might to find a way out of this, she knew that Baptiste was right. The Junker Queen let out a cry of frustration.

“Alright!” she finally said. “Take ‘em, and get out of my sight.”

She ordered her confused enforcers to make way for them to leave. As the gang walked past them, the Queen turned her head to face them again.

“Just so we’re clear though,” she growled. “This is _far_ from over.”

…

As the gang exited the gates of Junkertown, an Overwatch aircraft descended from the sky. Everyone looked at it with both relief and confusion.

“Hey, who sent a distress signal?” Lúcio asked.

“It’s okay, no need to thank me,” said D.va.

Everyone turned to see D.va approaching from behind the aircraft. A makeshift bandage on her arm.

“Hana, did I already tell you you’re my favourite person?” asked Lúcio.

“Two time’s now,” she answered. “Now c’mon. I’m ready to get out of here!”

The ramp lowered and everyone climbed onboard.

“Hello, this is your captain speaking. Welcome aboard everyone!” came Tracer’s voice from the cockpit.

The newest member of the group, Lucas, looked around in awe at the flashy interior. For a boy used to everything looking drab and rundown, it was a shock to the system to see everything looking so brand new.

“Hey, who’s the kid?” asked Tracer.

“Oh!” said Lúcio. “Lena, this is Lucas. He’s been real helpful to us.”

“Can he be trusted?” Tracer asked, hesitant.

“Yeah,” assures Lúcio. “I think so at least.”

Baptiste propped Junkrat up on one of the seats, just as the ramp was lifting. Roadhog sat down next to him.

“Hey… Roadie!” Junkrat lifted his head to look at him, smiling weakly. “There you are… ya big lu-“

Junkrat then slumped to one side and went still.

Everyone watched on, horrified.

“Dad!” Mykie called out to him.

But Junkrat just laid there, lifeless.


	15. Get Ready For A Shock!

Baptiste immediately rushed over to the unconscious Junkrat.

“Jamison! Jamison, can you hear me!” he called, tapping Rat’s shoulder frantically.

But Junkrat didn’t so much as stir.

Baptiste placed his ear close to Junkrat’s mouth, listening for any signs of breathing. Nothing.

Baptiste then felt Junkrat’s neck for a pulse. Again, nothing.

“Lena!” Baptiste yelled. “Get us to the nearest hospital, _now_!”

“Wilco!” Tracer said, putting the aircraft into full throttle.

“Hana, get me a first aid kit!” Baptiste barked. “Lúcio, get me an oxygen tank and a defibrillator! Both of you, hurry!”

Without saying anything, both Lúcio and D.va scrambled to get the medical equipment.

“What’s wrong with him?” Mykie asked, desperately.

“He’s not breathing,” Baptiste said, helping Junkrat to the floor.

“Not breathing?” Trinket echoed.

“He’s got a pulse though, right?” Mykie said, hopeful.

Baptiste didn’t want to answer that.

He instead chose to concentrate on Junkrat. Baptiste ripped Junkrat’s dirty hospital gown open, exposing his chest to the world. He then carefully tilted Rat’s chin up to allow for easier breathing.

Not wanting to waist any time, Baptiste immediately began chest compressions.

It was then, D.va and Lúcio came back with the defibrillator, oxygen tank, and first aid kit. D.va placed an oxygen mask over Junkrat’s face, and Lúcio hooked him up to the defibrillator.

After a few seconds, the defibrillator produced a hologram showing Junkrat’s heart rhythm. The lines on the monitor moved up and down erratically. His heart was it going haywire. A clear sign of cardiac arrest. But he hadn’t flatlined, something Baptiste was somewhat thankful for.

After thirty chest compressions, Baptiste stopped.

“Okay, everyone listen up!” he announced. “I’m going to try to shock his heart back into rhythm! I need everyone to stand back!”

Everyone immediately moved back.

With everyone out of the way, Baptiste pressed the button on the defibrillator and administered the electric shock.

Junkrat’s whole body seized, contorting like a marionette brought to life. It looked painful. But as soon as it started, it was over.

Baptiste looked at the monitor. The shock didn’t seem to have done anything.

Baptiste went back to giving chest compressions.

“Lena, hurry!” cried D.va, holding the mask to Junkrat’s face.

“This is as fast as the aircraft will go!” said Tracer, her eyes fixed on the horizon.

After two minutes had passed, Baptiste looked back at the monitor. Junkrat was still in cardiac arrest.

“Everyone, stand back! I’m going to shock him again!” Baptiste commanded.

Once again, everyone stood back.

Junkrat’s body jolted violently.

Roadhog and the girls watched with bated breath. Trinket with tears in her eyes.

Everyone looked at the monitor. Their own hearts sank as the line on the hologram was still as erratic as ever.

“Lúcio, take over from me!” Baptiste said.

“On it!” Lúcio replied, before beginning his own chest compressions.

Thirty chest compressions to two rescue breaths for two minutes at a time. At least, that was how Lúcio had been taught in first aid training.

Roadhog watched on in tense silence. Doing everything to hide his silent panic.

Suddenly, a different sound filled the aircraft. A sound that, for a while, brought relief to Roadhog and the girls. The sound of Junkrat breathing again. But their alleviation didn’t last. Each breath that escaped Junkrat was deep, raspy, and hoarse. Followed by a haunting moan.

“Is… is he breathing?” Mykie asked, tentatively.

“No, afraid not,” said Baptiste. “He’s not really breathing, it’s just a reflex.”

D.va looked down at Junkrat as he continued to gasp and moan for air. Hearing his laboured breathing was unsettling to say the least. But D.va wasn’t going to chicken out of saving her friend’s life. She continued to hold the mask to his face, hoping that _some_ oxygen would reach him.

But soon, Junkrat‘s pathetic attempts at breathing ceased.

“Gonna have to shock him again!” said Lúcio.

Everyone knew the drill by this point and automatically stood back.

Lúcio was the one to shock Junkrat this time.

“Everyone, we’re reaching the outskirts of the city!” Tracer announced.

“Get us to the hospital!” Baptiste yelled.

“Overwatch to Royal Perth Hospital, do you read me?” Tracer shouted into the comms.

“Overwatch, this is Royal Perth Hospital,” another voice came through the speakers. “What’s your emergency?”

“I’m coming in with an unresponsive patient!” Tracer explained. “He‘s in a very critical condition! He’s had to be shocked several times! We’re coming in by aircraft, I need to use your launch pad to land!”

“Normally we wouldn’t allow it, but since this is an emergency, you have our permission,” the voice at the other end said. “Bring him in.”

“Also, tell them!” Baptiste huffed, having taken over from Lúcio. “That we suspect the patient has sepsis!”

“We also think he has sepsis!” Tracer repeated into the comms.

“What’s sepsis?” Trinket asked through tears.

But no one answered.

“Okay,” the voice said. “Thank’s for the heads up.”

In no time, the aircraft landed. The ramp lowered, revealing a team of paramedics waiting outside.

Once the ramp was lowered, they all rushed inside and began to swarm around Junkrat. D.va, Lúcio, and Baptiste all backed away while the paramedics got to work inserting a tube down his throat, an IV drip, more tubes, wires, and god knows what else.

The paramedics then picked Junkrat up by stretcher, before placing him on a gurney.

The thought going through Roadhog’s mind as his partner was whisked away to the emergency room, was that this was probably the last time he would see Junkrat alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen, guys. I might have to postpone the fic for a week or so. Something has happened with one of my sisters, and that means I'm going to have to take time off to help look after her. That doesn't mean I'm abandoning this fic however. This series is my baby, and I refuse to just discontinue it. But it does mean the next few chapters will take longer than usual to be posted. I hope that's okay.


	16. Nadir

The constant ticking of the clock in the private waiting room had been the only sound for the past few hours. Roadhog and the girls sat in restless silence, waiting anxiously for the news on Junkrat.

By this time, Roadhog had been checked over for injuries or any signs of lung infection before being reunited with his cane and oxygen machine. The doctor was amazed that he hadn’t caught anything while in Junkertown.Nonetheless, Roadhog was put on antibiotics just to be on the safe side. The whole thing had been a blur for Roadhog. He didn’t even acknowledge the doctor’s scoldings on how he needed to lose weight and that he was seriously neglecting his health.

The door opened and in walked Mercy, a solemn look on her face. Mykie and Trinket leapt to their feet.

“Sit down,” was the first thing she said.

Mykie and Trinket sat back down.

“How is he?” asked Roadhog, wanting to get to the meat of the matter.

“He’s stable,” Mercy’s face spoke more than her words. “But it’s not looking good.”

“What do you mean?” Mykie asked, fearful.

“Your father suffered a cardiac arrest and multiple organ failure,” said Mercy. “Likely brought on by septic shock.”

“What’s septic shock?” asked Trinket.

“Septic shock is when someone has really low blood pressure after getting an infection,” explained Mercy. “It usually happens when a person gets a condition called sepsis, and are not treated on time. I suspect Jamison must have got an infection whilst in Junkertown.”

Roadhog thought back to the time in the cells. The sounds of Junkrat’s coughing and wheezing echoing throughout his memory.

“Will he get better?” Mykie asked, hopefully.

“We don’t know,” said Mercy. “Most sepsis patients have around seventy percent chance of survival. But with septic shock, that chance drops to sixty percent.”

“That’s still good though, right?” Mykie.

“I’m afraid not,” said Mercy. “With all the complications, such as multiple organ failure, cardiac arrest, and Jamison’s weak immune system, it’s hard to say what his chances of survival are.”

Roadhog just sat in silence, taking it all in. So many thoughts and emotions ran through him, but he couldn’t make sense of any of them. But one thought, in particular, pushed itself to the forefront.

“Will he die?” Hog asked.

His voice was cold, devoid of emotion, even though Mercy knew it was there.

“We can’t say for sure,” said Mercy. “Not everyone is a statistic, so we cannot say for definite either way.”

She looked at the man before her, tired and sore, having also suffered from his time in the wastelands. It was no wonder he would act this cold.

“Where is Dad?” asked Mykie.

“He’s been moved to the Critical Care unit,” said Mercy. ”He is on life support and under heavy sedation.”

“Like a coma?” asked Mykie.

“Yes,” said Mercy. “He’s in a coma.”

“Can I see him?” asked Trinket.

“You may,” said Mercy. “It’s better that you spend as much time as you can with him.”

…

Roadhog and the girls followed Mercy along the winding corridors of the hospital up to the fourth floor. There, they saw the signs outside the door for the Intensive Care Unit. As they got into the waiting area, Mercy turned to them.

“Before you go in,” she said. “I just want to prepare you for what you’re about to see. Jamison will have various tubes and wires going into him which may make you uncomfortable. But just know that it’s perfectly normal to feel that way.”

After disinfecting their hands, Mercy, Roadhog, and the girls all went in.

He didn't look real, laying there in that bed. Tubes in his mouth, nose, and who knows where else? Wires strewn about his lifeless body, all going to various machines and IV bags. He looked almost like an omnic. Except he wasn’t.

Though they had been prepared for it, seeing Junkrat like this still sent shockwaves through Roadhog and the girls. Roadhog tensed up and clenched his fists, trying to keep himself together. Mykie did so likewise.

“Why is Daddy like that?” asked Trinket, her eyes welling up with tears.

“He’s very sick, Trinket,” Mercy explained as best as she could. “He can’t breathe on his own right now. The tubes and wires are to help with things like breathing, cleaning his blood, and monitoring his heart.”

Roadhog approached Junkrat’s bedside where a chair was and sat down. For a while, he just sat and stared at him, not sure what to do. He wanted to touch him, hold his hand, but was too afraid to. He looked so delicate lying there as if one touch would make him crumble. Roadhog’s hand hovered near Junkrat’s head.

“You may touch him,” said Mercy, seeing his predicament. “Just try not to disturb the tubes and wires too much.”

Roadhog lightly brushed his fingers over Junkrat’s forehead. The feeling of his skin against his brought the reality of the situation crashing down on him.

Unable to take the sight anymore, Mykie stormed out of the room. The image of her comatose father burnt into her memory.

Trinket followed after her.

After watching them leave, Mercy tentatively approached Roadhog.

“Mako,” she said, apprehensively. “You need to make a decision.”

Roadhog turned to face her.

“As you’re Jamison’s registered next of kin, it is up to you to decide what is in his best interests,” Mercy said. “Though his chances are slim, with your consent the doctors here will do everything they can to try and save him. But only if you think that is the best course of action. Do you want them to save Jamison?”

Roadhog thought about it for a minute, weighing up his options. He knew that the treatment would exceed the budget allocated to Junkrat’s cancer treatment. But screw them! They should have payed for the immunotherapy, instead of treating Junkrat on the cheap. Maybe then he wouldn’t be in this situation at all. And Roadhog knew. He knew that if the roles were reversed, Junkrat would do anything to save him. Not to mention they had two girls together. Two girls that really needed both of them. With that in mind, Roadhog made his decision.

“Save him.”

…

Mykie burst through the doors and marched towards her hover bike. Trinket watched from the doorway as Mykie furiously packed her bags.

“What are you doing?” asked Trinket, sensing the rage in the air.

“I’m gonna kill her,” snarled Mykie.

“Who?” Trinket asked, confused.

“The Queen of Junkertown of course!” said Mykie, making sure she had enough flash bang and smoke grenades.

“But she’ll kill you!” said Trinket.

“So?” Mykie snapped. “She’s the reason Dad got kidnapped, she’s the reason he got sick, she’s the reason he’s lying in a hospital bed in the ICU, with all them tubes and wires and machines keeping him ticking! I’m telling you, Trinket, that bitch has to die.”

“I don’t want you to die, Mykie,” muttered Trinket.

“Yeah, well it’s a price I’m willing to pay,” Mykie said with a fiery determination in her.

“You’re being selfish!” yelled Trinket.

“Oh, I’m being selfish, am I?” Mykie yelled back. “Not like you’re not the one who can’t think about anyone but yourself!”

“Please!” Trinket said through tears. “I don’t want you and Daddy to die!”

“Well, tough shit, Trinket!” Mykie retorted, herself beginning to tear up. “This isn’t one of your story books! This is real life! And in real life, there are no happy endings!”

Trinket walked up to her younger sister.

“You heard Angela,” Mykie continued through tears. “She said Dad’s not gonna make it. They've… probably turned the machines off by now.”

And with that, Mykie fell into Trinket’s arms, both dropping to the ground and weeping.

…

Roadhog continued to watch Junkrat from his bedside. He listened to the hissing of the ventilator, the beeping of the heart monitor, and the whir of the dialysis machine. It all felt so mechanical. So unnatural. So… inhuman. Not unlike when he saw Trinket in her incubator as a tiny baby all those years ago.

Roadhog held Junkrat’s hand lightly. He couldn’t be sure if Rat knew he was there or not. Probably not. He didn’t know how comas worked, but Junkrat hadn’t so much as stirred at his touch. It was odd seeing him lying so still. Not when Junkrat was usually so twitchy and hyperactive.

Roadhog was usually able to fix their problems, in one way or another. Be it through intimidation, or his fists. He had always been able to get Junkrat out of trouble. But this time was different. Ever since the cancer diagnosis, he had been powerless to protect Junkrat. The very reason he had been hired all those years ago. He couldn’t protect him from either the Junker Queen, or the sepsis. And now Junkrat was dying. And there was nothing he could do, no way to fix it. He had failed him. And in turn, had failed the girls.

He hadn't felt this powerless in years. Not since he became Roadhog. The feelings he felt, the helplessness and despair, threatened to break through his hardened exterior and overwhelm him.

No, he thought. He couldn’t show weakness. Not now especially. Roadhog forced the feelings back down. He had to be strong, he thought. Whatever happens, he had to be the tough, resilient one. For the girls, and especially for Junkrat.

...

[Mayo Clinic: Sepsis](https://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/sepsis/symptoms-causes/syc-20351214)

[NHS: Sepsis](https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/sepsis/)

[CDC: Sepsis](https://www.cdc.gov/sepsis/index.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you interested, here's some further information about sepsis. I would encourage you to take the time to follow the links above as sepsis is a life threatening condition & it's important to know the signs & symptoms for it. It could save a life.


	17. It Takes Patients

“Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?” Sojourn scolded.

Mykie said nothing, staring down at the floor.

“Well, listen closely,” Sojourn continued. “You directly disobeyed orders, stole property, endangered Overwatch personnel, _and_ jeopardised the entire rescue mission! Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

“No ma’am, I don’t,” Mykie muttered, still staring at the floor.

“What were you thinking, Mykie?” Sojourn asked, sighing.

“I thought there wasn’t enough time to do things officially. That my Dad and Papa would die before the rescue mission reached Junkertown,” Mykie explained. “I thought… I thought I was doing the right thing.”

Again, Sojourn sighed.

“Whether you thought or not doesn’t change what happened,” she stated. “Can you give us _any_ reason you shouldn’t be expelled from Overwatch?”

“I can’t ma’am,” said Mykie. “What I did was inexcusable.”

Sojourn let out another lengthy sigh, rubbing her brow with her finger.

“Well at least you take responsibility,” she said.

Sojourn must have been tired, dealing with everything Mykie had caused.

“You have a lot of promise, Mykie,” she said. “Ingenuity, tenacity, and determination are things you excel at, things _we_ value. You have the potential to have a really strong place here. And you nearly threw it all away.”

Her look said it all.

“Do you realize that?”

A lump formed in Mykie’s throat.

“Am I gonna be expelled?” she asked, her voice quivering.

“No,” Sojourn answered.

Mykie glanced up in surprise.

“But,” Sojourn added. “You must still face consequences for what you did. Your actions caused a lot more harm than good, so disciplinary action will be taken.”

“What sort of disciplinary action?” Mykie asked, tentatively.

“You will be put on probation and set to minor duties,” said Sojourn. “You’ll also be temporarily relieved of your status as a trainee.”

Relief enveloped Mykie.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!” she said, almost falling at Sojourn’s feet.

Mykie knew just how much worse the punishment could have been. She got lucky, _very_ lucky.

“You’re free to go now,” said Sojourn.

“Thank you,” Mykie whispered.

She then turned and left, trying to keep herself from crying with relief.

…

Days passed.

Roadhog and the girls visited Junkrat every day they were able. Attending all the meetings with the doctors and nurses and sitting by his bedside. The meetings were often a blur for Roadhog and the girls, and it never seemed to get any better. No matter if the news was good, bad, or more or less the same. Until he woke up, it was all bad.

When he was not sitting by Junkrat’s bedside during visiting hours, Roadhog could often be found either practising at the shooting range or drinking alone at a local pub.

…

“Hey!” Lúcio said watching Roadhog walk in late, again. “You’re home late. You been to the pub again?”

Roadhog simply grunted in response.

“You’re not gonna become an alcoholic, are you?” D.va joked.

Roadhog snorted a laugh and began heading for the married quarters.

“In all seriousness though,” said Lúcio. “You alright?”

Roadhog simply brushed him off and walked away.

D.va and Lúcio eyed each other warily.

…

The next day and Roadhog was again sitting alone by Junkrat’s bedside. It had been a week since they had both been rescued from Junkertown. Though to Roadhog, it felt like far longer. He didn’t say anything, he just sat in silence and listened to the sounds of the machines keeping Junkrat alive. As long as no alarms went off, everything should be fine.

Roadhog was soon disturbed however by a knock at the door.

Roadhog let out an annoyed grunt.

“Who is it?” he asked, irritated.

The door opened and a nurse entered the room. It was a different nurse to the one the day before. And the day before that. They had names, he knew. But Roadhog didn’t care to learn them. Junkrat would have a different nurse assigned to him every twelve hours who would focus solely on his needs.

“Oh, hey there!” the nurse greeted him rather cheerfully. “Don’t mind me, I’m just here to do the usual.”

Roadhog remained silent.

The nurse approached Junkrat’s unconscious form.

“G’day there, Jamison!” she said to Junkrat. “Just gonna check everything is in working order. We’ll then help ya move again after visiting hours, so ya don’t get bedsores.”

Roadhog didn’t see much point in talking to someone in a coma. It wasn’t like they could talk back. Then again, the fact that Junkrat wasn’t saying anything in return was still such a surreal experience for Hog.

The nurse disinfected her hands and put on latex gloves. She then went about checking everything. She looked at the machine readings, checked that the catheters were all in place, took blood samples, and checked that the IV and feeding bags weren’t empty, or that the urinal bag was too full. Once done, looked over Junkrat’s notes and typed something in.

“Right!” she said, taking off her gloves. “I think that’s everything.”

But before she went, she turned back to Roadhog.

“Y’know, I remember ya both from back in the day,” she said. “Back when you two were both these huge international criminal terrorists. You were on the news a lot back then. Especially when ya started doing it in other countries.”

Roadhog didn’t say anything.

“I can understand why ya did it,” the nurse continued. “Especially after what the government at the time did. My parents and grandparents would certainly know about that.”

Roadhog looked up.

“Yeah,” said the nurse. “Me parents spent part of their childhood in the outback during the Omnic Crisis. Me grandparents had a farm out there. Then the government made them leave. They lost everything, had to start anew in the city. They were one of the lucky ones.”

Roadhog grunted in agreement.

“You must be so strong having lived there as long as you did. I read somewhere that the Omnium released a lot of radiation.”

The nurse placed her hand gently on Junkrat’s head.

“Seems to have taken its toll on this guy.”

“It did,” said Roadhog, the first thing he said to the nurse.

“I know you did what you had to,” she said. “And look at you now, standing tall with a family all your own. That take a lot of strength.”

Roadhog scoffed.

“I’m not strong,” he sighed.

Not like when he was younger, Hog thought.

“You know, just by looking at him I can tell he’s a fighter,” she said, looking back down at Rat’s lifeless body.

“Even if I didn’t know any of the stories, the legends of the two of you, I’d still be able to tell he’s a fighter.”

She looked back to Hog and smiled.

“Just… keep your chin up, mate,” she said. “Right! I’m on my break. I’ll come back in half an hour or so. See ya!”

And with that, the nurse left.

Roadhog turned his attention back to Junkrat. She was right of course, Junkrat was a fighter. He had survived so much in life, things that no normal person could have endured. But this? This was different. What the future held this time was far from certain.


	18. The Mask Slips

Roadhog kept his head down, trying to get some enjoyment from his drink. But for some reason or other, something about the beer tasted… off today. Perhaps he had got too used to the taste. Perhaps he had been served shit beer. Or perhaps it was the fact that everyone else around him seemed to be enjoying themselves, while he sat alone wallowing in his own misery.

Hog’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a burst of laughter coming from the nearby bar. Roadhog turned and saw a young couple, both laughing hysterically at a joke one of them had said. Roadhog glared daggers at them through his mask. Great, he thought. Just what he needed. Another reminder of what he had lost. It wasn’t enough that he lose everything. His home, his humanity, his partner. The world then had to go and rub it in his face. At that point, Roadhog couldn’t hate the world more if he tried.

As he downed the last of his beer, Hog went back to observing the couple. By the way they were howling at the unfunny jokes, they were clearly a little tipsy. If not, outright drunk. The way they were enjoying each other only made Roadhog gaze at them with further contempt.

That was when a thought came to him out of the blue. A memory. A memory of a time when he and Junkrat were hiding from the police in a pub in King’s Row, London. Junkrat had almost given them both away by trying not to let out a manic cackle. At the time, Hog would have done almost anything to get him to shut up. Oh, how he wished he could hear that laugh again.

Unable to tolerate the cheery atmosphere any longer, Roadhog got up, threw some money on the table, and left.

…

By the time Roadhog got back to the apartment in the married quarters, it was well into the early hours of the morning. And Hog was more than ready to go to sleep and forget about the previous day.

As he came through the door, he was surprised to see Trinket sitting on the sofa with a picture book in her lap. Shouldn’t she be in bed asleep, he thought? Had she really been waiting for him all this time?

As soon as she heard his heavy footsteps and breathing, Trinket immediately looked up from her book.

“Hi, Papa,” she greeted, exhausted. “Where did you go?”

“Out,” was all Roadhog said.

“Where?” Trinket asked.

Roadhog answered with an annoyed grunt. Trinket‘s face fell.

“Will you read to me?” she asked, hopefully.

Roadhog didn’t answer. He simply walked past her and headed to his room. Well, his and Junkrat’s room. But he guessed it was just his room now.

Trinket watched on as her heart sank in her chest, unsure of what she had done wrong.

…

It continued like this for many days. Roadhog would bring the girls to visit Junkrat every afternoon. Trinket would sit on the edge of the bed, book in hand, and do her best to read to Junkrat as if he wasn’t lying there comatose. While Mykie would talk to him about how the day went. As for Roadhog, he would just sit by Rat’s bedside in silence, holding his hand. Then every night, he would trudge to the pub on his own to drown his sorrows.

…

Trinket stood off to the side while Mykie did her “low level duties”. She looked troubled.

“Why is Papa going out all the time?” Trinket asked out of the blue.

“I don’t know,” said Mykie, continuing to mop the floor. “But he’s been seen going down the pub a lot lately.”

“Why?” asked Trinket.

“I don’t know,” said Mykie. “But I’m worried. He‘s just not been himself lately.”

“Should we talk to Papa about it?” suggested Trinket.

Mykie stopped mid scrub.

“… Yeah! Why not?” she said. “Can’t see the harm.”

…

They found Roadhog at the shooting range, firing off his Scrap Gun at the many training bots in his sight. He seemed to be shooting at them far more aggressively than usual.

Mykie and Trinket approached him apprehensively. They stood there for a few seconds, until Roadhog had to stop and reload.

Mykie cleared her throat.

Roadhog whipped around then lowered his Scrap Gun.

“Hey, Papa,” Mykie greeted.

“Hey,” Roadhog grunted, before going back to reloading his gun.

“How have you been lately, Papa?” asked Mykie.

Roadhog stopped and looked at his youngest daughter with both confusion and suspicion. This was strange, he thought. Why were they asking him about his well-being all of a sudden? Something was up, he knew that much.

“What is it?” Hog asked, no-nonsense.

“Papa?” Trinket pipped up. “Why do you go out all the time?”

Roadhog was taken aback by this question. It wasn’t exactly a secret that he had been going to the pub. Everyone and their mother in Overwatch knew. But still. His business was his business.

“To clear my head,” was all Roadhog said.

“But, you spend hours there!” Mykie protested. “We never see you unless we go see Dad. What’s wrong, Papa? Please tell us, we’re worried about you.”

Roadhog rolled his eyes under his mask.

“I’m fine,” he huffed. “No need to worry.”

Mykie was about to challenge that statement, but Hog immediately shut her down.

“Maybe you should clear your own heads before you come for mine.”

And with that, Roadhog went back to shooting.

…

A few days later, Trinket was sitting against the wall as she watched Mykie clean the floor. Watching her sister doing menial chores felt so… wrong and mundane, she thought. It certainly wasn’t as fun as watching her spar. Trinket did have a picture book in her lap, but she hadn’t so much as opened it. Lately, Trinket hadn’t found books all that enjoyable anymore. With her Dad in a coma and her Papa hardly around anymore, there was no one to help her with the difficult words.

“… Mykie?” Trinket said, hesitating for a moment.

Everyone seemed distant lately. It all felt so wrong.

“Mykie, I… I think Papa is sad,” she confessed. “I’m really worried about him.”

“I’m sure he’s alright,” said Mykie, continuing to mop the floor. “He’s probably just worried about Dad. But he’s tough, he’ll work it out. I’m sure he will.”<?p>

She paused, before scrubbing harder.

“Sorry sis, but I just need to finish this. Can’t get into trouble again,” Mykie said.

Trinket shifted her gaze to the floor and the mop head scrubbing it. She knew that Mykie was only trying to reassure her about Papa, but something about her voice said otherwise.

Suddenly, an irritation took ahold of Trinket. Fine, she thought. If no one was willing to find out what was wrong with Papa, she would do it herself.

And with that, Trinket got up and went to find Roadhog.

…

She found Roadhog in their apartment. And immediately she could tell he was getting ready to go out again. Likely to the pub. She had to think of something quick. Any excuse to keep him home.

“Papa?” Trinket pipped up.

Roadhog turned to face her. Trinket held out her book.

“Could you help me with the words?” she asked.

“You know how to read that book, Trinket,” Hog huffed.

He really didn’t need this.

“Please, Papa,” Trinket pleaded. “I want to read with you.”

“I’ll read with you tomorrow,” Roadhog said dismissively.

“You said that yesterday,” Trinket pointed out. “And the day before yesterday.”

Roadhog stopped. Come to think of it, it _had_ been a while since he had sat down and read with his oldest daughter. But nonetheless, he really wasn’t in the mood for reading children’s stories right now.

“I’ll read with you tomorrow,” Hog repeated sternly, putting his jacket on.

“I don’t _want_ to wait until tomorrow!” Trinket protested. “I want to read with you _now_!”

Roadhog rolled his eyes behind his mask. Trinket caught the subtle gesture.

“You never spend time with me and Mykie anymore!” she continued. “You’re always going out! And you’re mean sometimes.“

Trinket hesitated. Her words caught in her mouth. But before she could rethink or reword her thoughts.

“I WANT MY PARENTS BACK!” she blurted out.

Roadhog saw red.

He swung a gigantic fist at Trinket.

Trinket turned away and covered her face with her hands, anticipating the heavy blow.

The fist halted mere inches from Trinket’s face.

Roadhog froze where he stood, realising with horror what he had almost done.

Trinket gazed up at Roadhog wide-eyed, shaking like a leaf. Tears formed, threatening to spill over.

Roadhog could see his daughter’s eyes change from fear, to that of hurt and torment.

His heart sank as Trinket then turned and ran. Roadhog watched as she did. He didn’t stop her. He couldn’t blame her for wanting to get as far away from him as possible.

Roadhog looked down and saw Trinket’s picture book on the floor. Picking it up, he looked at the cover. As he did so, a wave of guilt and regret washed over him. He had almost done the unthinkable. Fists he reserved for his enemies, had almost been used on his own child.

Roadhog gazed down at the book, ashamed and horrified. Was he regressing? Becoming the person he used to be? Before he had a family? Before Overwatch? Before the heists? Before he even met Jamison?

Jamison. So lost in his own ways, yet he always knew what he wanted to do. Roadhog missed him, and wanted him back in his arms. Awake and his old self again. Before Jamison came along, Roadhog had resigned himself to whither away in the irradiated Outback. He had been so lost, but Jamison had sparked something in him. Something that Roadhog still couldn’t quite figure out. Jamison had saved him, in more ways than one. And this is how he repays him? By neglecting his daughters and almost hurting them?

Roadhog let out a hollow laugh. What a horrible father he had been lately. But he would make it right. He had to.

Starting now.

…

An hour later, and Roadhog was still looking for Trinket. He had searched everywhere he could think of. Even approached a few people to ask if they had seen her. Something he would never normally do.

Roadhog thought. Where could Trinket be? Then it came to him. Trinket loved playing hide and seek as a child. Every base they were assigned to over the years, she would always find some nook or cranny to hide in. Often causing Junkrat to go into a blind panic when he realised she was missing. She must be hiding in one of those spots, he concluded.

It took him a moment, but he was sure he could remember most of her hiding places. He decided to search the Living Quarters first. And when he didn’t find her there, he moved onto the Mess Hall. And so on.

He finally found her. She sat huddled with her back to him, her body shaking as she silently wept.

Roadhog stood, hesitant. For once, he was silent because he was lost for words. Apologies weren’t something that came naturally to Roadhog. But nonetheless, he had to make things better.

Roadhog reluctantly stepped forward.

Trinket looked at him over her shoulder, before turning away from him again.

Roadhog let out a heavy sigh.

“… I’m sorry,” he said.

Trinket stopped crying, but kept her back to him.

Hog took this as a sign to continue.

“… I’ve been a terrible Papa to you both. Terrible and selfish,” he said. “I haven’t been there for you and Mykie. I pushed you away when you needed me most. And… what I did back there… what I almost did. There isn’t an apology in the world that can make up for that.”

Trinket wiped her nose on her sleeve.

“I miss him too,” Roadhog admitted. “More than you know.”

Trinket lowered her head at that.

Roadhog held out the picture book in his hand. 

“I’ll read to you,” he said.

Trinket turned and looked up at him in astonishment. Was he really going to read to her?

To prove he was being honest, Roadhog lifted his mask over his head to show Trinket his face.

Upon seeing the sincerity in his eyes, Trinket got up and rushed over to him. She held her arms out and embraced him gleefully.

Roadhog held her tight in his arms.


	19. Ugh, Five More Minutes

The Intensive Care Physician let out a sigh before entering the next room. Another day, another round of checkups for the patients on the ward. Hopefully, everything was still in order and no one had died in the night.

The Physician took out a tablet and looked over the notes of the next patient. It seemed like this one, Jamison Fawkes, had been with them a few weeks now. So far, nothing had changed. He hadn’t taken a turn for the worse, but he wasn’t getting any better either. Wait… hold on. The Physician took a closer look at Junkrat’s vitals. To the Physician’s amazement, everything was improving! It seemed the sepsis treatment was finally working.

“Well, mate,” the Physician said to Junkrat. “Aren’t you a lucky bastard.”

…

“Yes, hello?” Mercy said, answering the voice call.

As the call went on, a smile spread across Mercy’s face.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said, almost giddy. “I shall tell his family right away!”

…

“Why are we here?” asked Mykie, confused.

“It’s to do with your father,” Mercy said, beaming. “I have some really good news.”

“What?” asked Trinket, equally as confused.

“I just had a call from the hospital,” said Mercy. “And it appears that the prognosis is looking good. Jamison is responding well to the sepsis treatment. The doctors are even talking about taking him off sedation.”

The girls let out gasps of relief and joy at the good news. Trinket almost leaped out of her chair, she was so happy.

“Will Daddy wake up?” Trinket asked, hopefully.

“That’s the plan,” Mercy confirmed.

Trinket threw her fists in the air, letting out a cheer.

Roadhog just sat in disbelief, not saying anything. How? How was this possible when they had been told that his chances were so slim? And now he was getting better? Hog couldn’t believe it. Finally, some good news after weeks of despair. Though hidden by his mask, his grin was blissful. He was just so happy. But he knew he couldn’t celebrate just yet. Rat still had to wake up.

…

Roadhog and the girls continued to visit Junkrat everyday. And everyday, Junkrat became a little more responsive as the sedation was reduced. He began to move his arms, twitch his fingers, even shift in bed slightly. It wasn’t much, but to Roadhog and the girls, each little movement was everything.

Each day brought more hope, but also more anxiety. Things seemed to be going so well. Perhaps a little too well, thought Roadhog. Everything seemed to be going far too according to plan. Surely there was a catch.

…

The day finally came when Junkrat was completely weaned off the sedatives. Roadhog and the girls watched with baited breath for him to rouse from his deep slumber. They all longed for him to open his eyes and let out one of his manic cackles. For Trinket to hug him, for Mykie to have him cheer her on, and for Roadhog to hold him in his arms again. They were so close. The nightmare was nearly over.

And so, they waited.

And waited. And waited. Minutes ticked by. Then an hour. Then two. The family stood around him, watching and waiting. But there was nothing. And after a while it dawned on them.

“He’s not waking up,” Trinket said, disheartened.

“Of course he will. He has to,” Mykie tried to reassure her.

Though her voice said otherwise.

Roadhog turned to Mercy, hoping for answers. Clearly, something was wrong.

“Why is he not waking up?” Hog demanded.

Mercy paused, before speaking.

Roadhog noted the solemn look on her face.

“I… I’m not sure,” she stammered. ”The most likely reason why Jamison hasn’t woken up, is that he has suffered some form of brain injury.”

Both the girls and Roadhog could feel their hearts sink in their chest.

“What does that mean?” Mykie asked, clearly in shock.

“I don’t know,” Mercy said, her voice somber. “The brain is a very complex organ, there’s no way to determine the extent of the injury until Jamison wakes up.”

“When will that be?” asked Roadhog, despondent.

“However long it takes,” answered Mercy.

“Will Daddy ever wake up?” Trinket asked, sullen.

“Hopefully,” said Mercy, putting on a brave face for her.

Once again, the hopelessness of the situation reared its ugly head. They had been so close. So close to getting Junkrat back. For once, they had allowed themselves to hope. And all they got in return was more disappointment and uncertainty.

“The good thing is, he is responding to your touch and speech,” Mercy continued, trying to be hopeful. “It means he’s alive and fighting this. That can only be a good sign.”

Roadhog wasn’t too sure if that was worse or not.

…

Days passed, but Junkrat still hadn’t woken up.

Roadhog and the girls continued to visit him, hoping that each day would be the day he would be sat up waiting for them, smiling. But it didn’t come.

But each day _did_ give Roadhog and the girls plenty of time to agonise over what Junkrat would be like if or when he did finally wake up.

So many questions ran through their heads.

Would he recognise any of them? Would he remember who he was? Would he be the same person? Would he be disabled? If so, to what extent? Would he need therapy? Would they have to put him in a care home? No, thought Roadhog. He would never allow that. If anyone was going to care for Junkrat, it would be him. He would even wipe his arse for him if he had to.

…

Four days had passed since the day Junkrat was supposed to have woken up. Though to Roadhog and the girls, it felt even longer.

Trinket sat on the bed, reading her picture book out loud, while Mykie simply stared off into space.

Roadhog meanwhile kept his eyes fixed on Junkrat, holding his hand like he always did. Hog could see that Rat was twitching more than usual, which had to be a good sign. But Hog didn’t get his hopes up. He knew that it would only lead to more disappointment if he did. Over Trinket’s monotonous reading and Mykie jigging her foot, he could still hear the hiss, whirring, and beeping of the machines that kept Junkrat alive. Even after so long, Roadhog still wasn’t used to them. They still reminded him of Omnics.

Roadhog let out a long sigh.

“Will you ever wake up?” he asked, almost silently.

Just then, Roadhog’s eyes immediately fixed on Rat’s hand. He couldn’t tell if it had been his imagination or not, but he thought he felt Junkrat’s hand squeeze his. No, it couldn’t be. Junkrat hadn’t done anything like that since his coma. And yet… and yet there it was, another squeeze! It was so weak, it was almost unnoticeable. But it was there! Roadhog peered closer at the unconscious Junkrat. Was this it?

“Jamie?” said Roadhog.

Trinket and Mykie looked up from their reading and daydreaming just in time to see Junkrat begin to stir.

“Daddy?” Trinket called out to him.

The whole room fell silent as Roadhog and the girls directed their gaze at Junkrat. For a while, no one dared utter a sound. That was when Trinket let out a gasp, Mykie started tearing up, and Roadhog just stared on in stunned silence, as Junkrat opened his eyes for the first time in weeks.

Junkrat shifted groggily on the surprisingly comfortable mattress he was lying on. He blinked and looked around in confusion. Where was he? What was this place? How did he get here? He had no memory of being rescued. Junkrat tried to call out, but he then realised there was a tube lodged in his throat. It didn’t take long for him to put two and two together. The Junker Queen was going to have the guards force feed him something. He had to get away before they came back. Junkrat tried to move, but his limbs were strangely heavy. Clearly he was strapped down. Junkrat began to panic. He writhed and twisted against his presumed bonds. Suddenly, large hands grabbed him and held him down. Junkrat wanted to scream, but the tube in his throat strangled any cries he made. Suddenly, he heard a voice. But it wasn’t one he was expecting to hear.

“Daddy! Daddy! Don’t be scared, it’s us!”

“Dad, don’t move so much! You’ll break your tubes.”

Trinket?

Mykie?

Roadhog and the girls watched as Junkrat slowly started to calm down. Roadhog took his hands off of him. Junkrat’s eyes darted around the room, trying so hard to make sense of everything. He was obviously very confused. It was then Junkrat saw the girls and Roadhog standing over him. His eyes immediately met Hog’s, silently pleading.

Behind his mask, Roadhog nearly teared up. Despite the confusion and delirium, Junkrat recognised him! The fact that he could must mean he wasn’t so far gone.

Rat tried to open his mouth.

“Don’t talk,” Roadhog cooed.

Junkrat simply gave Roadhog a disorientated look. He attempted to lift his hand up to Hog, but it was heavier than he remembered it. Skinnier too.

Upon seeing his feeble attempts, Roadhog simply took Rat’s hand and held it in his, squeezing it slightly. He beamed when he felt Junkrat squeeze his hand back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this one took so long. I came down with a horrible chest infection which I have only just fully recovered from.


	20. The Lies You Tell Yourself

Junkrat spent several more days on the ventilator. Awake, but heavily sedated. After trying many times escape his bed, take his tubes and wires out, and kick out and thrash at any doctors or nurses that dared go near him, it got to the point where they had no choice but to restrain him to the bed as a last resort.

Roadhog and the girls watched on as it happened. Seeing Junkrat in bed restraints was nothing short of heartbreaking. The panic in his eyes said it all.

Junkrat writhed and squirmed against his bonds, thinking he was about to be tortured again. Of course, Roadhog and the girls did everything they could to reassure Junkrat that he was no longer in Junkertown. That he was back in the hospital and was safe. Obviously, Junkrat didn’t believe them. The doctors told Roadhog and the girls that Junkrat had something called Post-Traumatic Amnesia, and that it could last for hours or days, but that it would likely go away. In the end, all the doctors could do was have a nurse watch him at all times to make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

Junkrat lay in his hospital bed, unable to move. As his amnesia went on, all he could think about were Trinket and Mykie. Especially now that the Queen held them captive like she did with Roadhog. He imagined how scared they both probably were. Especially Trinket, who would be so defenceless against someone as ruthless as the Queen of Junkertown. He had to save them. He had to. Somehow.

That was when Roadhog appeared by his side again, taking Rat’s hand in his. Junkrat immediately stopped struggling.

As the hours turned into days, Junkrat slowly began to recognise where he really was. His confusion, disorientation, and agitation slowly left him, and his sense of space, time, and awareness of his surroundings returned. Though his memory was still as terrible as ever, it appeared as if Junkrat was becoming his old self again. That was until the day his endotracheal tube was taken out.

…

The day finally came for Junkrat to be taken off the ventilator.

“Ready?” the doctor asked.

Junkrat hardly had time to react before the endotracheal tube was removed. His throat burned, and all he could do was cough and choke as the tube left his windpipe. Then all of a sudden, a light was shone in one of his eyes.

“Can you follow my finger?” the doctor asked, swaying his finger to and fro near Junkrat’s face.

Rat’s eyes moved with the doctor’s finger.

The doctor then shone the light in his other eye.

“And follow my finger again,” he said, doing the same with the other eye.

The doctor examined Rat’s pupils as they reacted to the light.

Roadhog watched on by Junkrat’s bedside. He wasn’t entirely sure the purpose of the examination, but he assumed it was important.

Satisfied, the doctor beamed.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, Jamison,” he said.

“For… for… wha… ever tha’s… worf,” Junkrat stopped, furrowing his brow in confusion.

Why wasn’t he talking properly? Was he drunk? He certainly didn’t remember drinking. Then again, he didn’t remember much of anything. It must be the tube, he thought. It did something to him, and now he couldn’t control his own tongue.

Junkrat moved to sit up. But as he did so, his leg, arm, and stumps felt like lead.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” the doctor placed a hand on Rat’s shoulder to keep him in place. “Take it easy. You haven’t used your muscles for a while.”

“Wha’… wha’ ya… talkin’ abou’… Doc?” slurred Junkrat, pretending to be unconcerned. “I fffeel… righ’… as rain.”

Again, he tried to sit up, without much luck.

“All I’m saying is, take it easy, mate,” said the doctor. “You’ve not long come out of a coma. Your muscles are weaker than what you’re used to.”

“Go… fffuck yerself… ya… Om’ic fffucker! I ain’… I ain’ fffuckin’… weak!” said Junkrat, struggling to find the words, let alone get them out.

“I never said you were,” the doctor said, in a condescending voice. “All I said was that you need to take it easy until you’re back to full strength.”

“Ya… did… call me… weak… ya… ya… fffuckin’ dog!” Junkrat yelled, trying to intimidate the doctor.

Worry grew in the pit of Roadhog’s stomach. Something was clearly wrong with Junkrat.

…

As soon as the all-clear was given, Junkrat was deemed fit enough to be transferred from Critical Care to the Subacute Unit. Though, Junkrat was still attached to all the machines, except the ventilator, meaning he still wasn’t allowed out of bed.

Great, Junkrat thought, more resting. He was tired of lying around. He wanted to go outside and be free again! Well, as free as Overwatch would allow. This was worse than being confined to a room. At least then, he could move around, look out the window, or watch TV. Here, he wasn’t even to so much as allowed sit up on his own, or wash himself, or feed himself for that matter. But the worse thing of all, was the fact that he was forced to wear a urinary catheter and an adult nappy. He didn’t even know nappies for adults existed. Having to shit himself and piss into a bag was the most undignified thing Junkrat could ever imagine. It made him feel like a helpless baby.

…

More hospital food. Great. Junkrat admitted it was better than Junkertown grub, but it was still slop with less flavor than water.

The nurse scooped up some of said slop and raised it towards Junkrat.

Junkrat growled in protest, looking the nurse dead in the eye.

“I can… do it… meself,” he snarled, slowly lifting a shaking hand up to snatch the spoon.

He would not be reduced to being fed like a little baby.

But surprisingly, he didn’t need to.

“Okay then!” the nurse said, handing the spoon over to him.

Junkrat tried to take the spoon. His hand trembled and felt heavy. How embarrassing. How absolutely fucking humiliating. He struggled to grab the food, his shaking always loosening his grip. Junkrat tried to put the spoon in his mouth. But the spoon wouldn’t go where he wanted it to. It was as if he was feeding himself blindfolded. The more Junkrat missed, the more frustrated he became.

It was only when he dropped the spoon with the goop on it, did Junkrat get angry. He thrashed the entire bowl off the overbed table, causing the nurse to jump back. The bowl crashed to the floor, leaving a large mess on the floor.

“Ya… ya fffucking… drugged me… or… some… shit?” accused Junkrat.

“Jamison, calm down,” the nurse said as if she was scolding a child.

This wasn’t lost on Junkrat.

“No!” he yelled. “Fu… fuck you…! Piss off!“

But the nurse didn’t budge.

“Didn’ ya… hear me?” Junkrat shrieked. “Get… get… the fffuck… out!”

“I’m gonna call for a cleaner,” the nurse said, managing to keep a cool head. “And in the meantime, I expect you to calm down. Okay?”

The nurse got up and exited the room. But she didn’t go far. Junkrat could see her standing just outside the door, tapping away on a tablet.

…

Later that day, a neurologist was assigned to assess Junkrat’s condition. It was clear by this point that Junkrat had a brain injury, but exactly how bad it was wasn’t entirely known. Junkrat was given every non-invasive test under the sun. Including MRI and EEG scans. Of course, he complained throughout and made it perfectly clear that he didn’t like undergoing any of them. Especially the MRI. Having to lie still while being inserted into a machine? Talk about claustrophobic. But once everything was said and done, it didn’t take long for the neurologist see what was wrong.

…

Roadhog, Trinket, and Mykie were sitting by Junkrat’s bedside when the neurologist entered the room.

“Hello there, I’m Dr. Lee. I’m the neurologist,” he greeted. “I take it you’re all Jamison’s family?”

Roadhog nodded.

“Oh…! Don’… mind me,” Junkrat snarked. “Not like… I’m the… patient… ‘ere.”

“Papa?” Trinket asked, nervously. “Why is Daddy talking funny?”

“What’s wrong with him?” asked Mykie, clearly anxious.

“Ay, wha’ ya… talkin’ abou’… love?” Junkrat said, giving a wonky smile. “There ain’… nothing… wrong whiff… me.”

The neurologist fell silent. He took out a chair and sat down.

“As you know,” the doctor said. “We performed several tests on Jamison to determine the extent of his brain injury.”

Dr. Lee paused, looking down at his tablet.

"There‘s not an easy way to say this,” he said, looking back at them solemnly. “So I‘m gonna say it as directly as I can. I trust you all to hear me out. If you have any questions afterwards, I'll do my best to answer them."

Roadhog nodded, urging him to go on.

Dr. Lee then turned his attention to Junkrat.

"The brain needs oxygen to function, and when it’s deprived of oxygen, it can cause significant and lasting damage. When you had your cardiac arrest, you weren’t getting the oxygen you needed, Jamison. And our tests show significant damage to your frontal lobe,” Dr. Lee explained.

“What’s a frontal lobe?” asked Trinket.

“It’s the two front parts of your brain,” said Dr. Lee, pointing to his forehead.

“Oh,” said Trinket.

Dr. Lee turned his attention back to Junkrat.

“As you can probably tell by now, that also effects your ability to speak. We'll see as you're able to get up and move, but it's very likely that you're going to experience significant difficulty in many areas of your day to day life,” explained Dr. Lee.

“What does that mean?” asked Mykie, not liking where this was going.

“With this type of injury,” the doctor continued. “We often see changes in gross and fine motor skills. In other words, difficulties in the way you’re able to use different parts of your body together. Such as walking, using your hands, or being able to keep balance while standing or moving.”

“Is that all?” asked Roadhog, taking it all in.

"I’m afraid not,” said Dr. Lee. “I think the thing you’ll all find the most difficult to deal with, both as a patient and as his loved ones, are psycho-social disturbances.”

“Psycho… social disturbances?” echoed Trinket.

“Yes,” said Dr. Lee. “This means it’s common for the affected person to experience changes in their personality. This means the person with this kind of injury will display things like memory problems. Sometimes it’s forgetting things like what day of the week it is, or what someone has just said. Other times, it’s forgetting things like where to you need to go, or important dates like birthdays.”

“This… this is a lot to take in,” Mykie said, trying to make sense of it all.

“You’ll also see changes in your personality, and have difficulty with social skills,” said Dr. Lee, continuing to address Junkrat.

Roadhog snorted, humourlessly. As if Junkrat didn’t already have problems there.

“It’ll be more likely that you’ll experience a decrease in things like impulse control, and difficulty handling things like irritability, stress, or frustration. You may also find it difficult to focus on tasks more often. Including the things you love doing.”

“Wha’ ya… sayin’?” Junkrat asked, dreading the answer.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this, Jamison,” Dr. Lee said, his voice grave. “But I’m afraid you have what’s called a severe Anoxic Brain Injury.”

“B-brain injury?” Rat stammered.

“What, you mean, he has brain damage?” Mykie interjected.

“Yes,” the doctor clarified. “I’m afraid so.”

A grievous silence fell over the room. Mykie was tense, her fists clenched, holding back tears. Trinket sat confused, still not able to understand the gravity of the situation. Roadhog sat in stunned silence, trying to process what he had just heard. His thoughts moving a million miles a second. And then there was Junkrat himself. He lay in bed looking up at the ceiling, unable to comprehend everything he had been told. It all just felt like a dream. Or a nightmare, rather.

"I know this is difficult to hear,” the doctor said, sympathetically. “Do any of you need a moment?"

Mykie nodded, on the verge of tears.

“Take your time,” said Dr. Lee. “I’ll be here if you need me to explain anything in more detail.”

“Now what?” asked Roadhog, sounding distant.

“That will depend on where you all want to go from here,” Dr. Lee explained. “But, you don't have to decide anything right now. And although this all sounds scary, confusing, or even hopeless, I will assure you right now that it's not. There’s still a lot that can be done to help Jamison.”

A twinge if anger seized Junkrat. Who did this doctor think he was? Junkrat didn’t need anyone’s help for anything!

“I’ll be honest with you, though,” the doctor continued. “These next few weeks are going to be hard on all of you. Not least you, Jamison. But there is a lot that we, and you, can do to bring you as close to your old self as possible."

Junkrat began to seethe. His old self? But he was his old self! He was still the mad Australian bomber he always had been. There was nothing wrong with him!

"We have physical and speech therapists on site who can help you to walk and talk again. As well as the option to transfer to any nearby rehabilitation hospitals,” the doctor said. “And if you like, we can also refer you to a counsellor to help you with any emotional challenges related to your injury.“

“I don’… need no… fffuckin’… psych,” growled Junkrat.

“That’s okay,” the doctor said, calmly. “I could also give you medications that might be helpful, if you’d like.”

“Don’… need ‘em,” Junkrat snarled, dismissing him outright.

“I understand that this is all really distressing and overwhelming for you,” Dr. Lee said, sensing the tension in the room. “That’s okay. The feelings you have right now are completely normal. I’m not here to tell you what you need to do, I’m just telling you what your options are. We all want to do everything we can to help you get better.”

“I don’… need ta… get better…!” Junkrat insisted. “There ain’… nothin’… wrong whiff… me!”

Junkrat once again, attempted to sit up.

"I need you to calm down, Jamison,” Dr. Lee said his voice stern. “I don't want you to fall out of bed and hurt yourself.”

“I’ll… fffuckin’… hurt _you_… inna minute!” Junkrat yelled, ignoring him.

“Dad, stop!” Mykie pleaded.

“Jamison,” the doctor said, remaining eerily calm. “If you continue to threaten me like this, I _will_ have to call security.”

“FFFuck… you, ya… jumped-up… wanker!” screamed Junkrat, attempting to lunge at the doctor from his bed.

“Daddy!” Trinket shrieked, trying to intervene.

Frantically, Dr. Lee pressed a red button attached to his lanyard.

Two omnic security staff and a nurse burst through the door moments later. The omnics took hold of Junkrat, pinning him down with little effort.

Junkrat fought like his life depended on it, yelling and cursing up a storm. His words slurred and stilted.

“ROADIE…! ROADIE!” he cried. “HELP… ME!”

But Roadhog just sat there, fists clenched and shaking. Forcing himself to watch as he unwillingly allowed the very machines he despised to restrain his partner. He knew he had to let them do it. He knew it was for Junkrat’s own good. But oh how he hated himself for letting them do it.

When Junkrat saw the nurse with the syringe, his panic went into overdrive. He fought with newfound vigour, trying desperately to break free from the bots. But it wasn’t long before Junkrat felt a sting, and drowsiness took hold. After a minute or two, he was out like a light.

After the nurse and omnics had left, Roadhog got up and placed his hand between the doctor and the door.

“How long will it take for him to heal?” Hog demanded.

“I’m not able to answer that,” the doctor said, a little intimidated. “Every brain injury is unique, no two are the same. And given the severity of Jamison’s, it may take weeks, months, or even years before he’s functional again.”

Roadhog notes how carefully the doctor had chosen his words.

“Will he ever fully heal?” he asked.

“I’m afraid it’s unlikely,” Dr. Lee sighed. “Most brain injuries of this severity tend to be lifelong. This will most likely affect Jamison for the rest of his life.”

Roadhog stared blankly at the doctor, dazed and numb. The fact that Junkrat would never really get better was all too much to bear. He wanted so badly to punch the doctor. Make him feel what he and his family was going through. But at the same time he was so defeated, he just didn’t have the strength to do it. With a heavy sigh, Roadhog took his hand away from the door and allowed the doctor to leave.

…

It was many hours later before Junkrat awoke from the tranquilliser. And a few more before the drowsiness wore off. After coming to, Junkrat’s eyes moved about the room. But there was no one.

“Roadie?” he called out.

But only silence answered back.

“Mykie…? Trinket?”

Again, silence.

That was when Junkrat realised how dark it was outside. Visiting hours had long since passed. Everyone was likely asleep by now. Everyone except him, that was.

Junkrat tried to sit up once more. But his feeble attempts only served to exhaust him, his body was just too weak. After many failed attempts, Junkrat flopped back into the pillows in a frustrated huff.

He lay there in silence for what felt like forever, not knowing what to do with himself. It wasn’t long before boredom and discomfort soon set in. Even shifting position slightly didn’t make it go away. Sick and tired, he jerked his leg up and down, kicking at the sheets.

It was then Junkrat noticed a TV suspended close by, with a remote attached to it by a wire. Junkrat’s face lit up. If he couldn’t get comfortable, he could at least watch some TV. Junkrat tried to reach for the remote, only to find if was just out of his reach. He glared at the TV. The TV starred back, mocking him. Junkrat reached for the remote again, managing to touch it with the tip of his middle finger. Before knocking the remote off its cradle. Junkrat let out an annoyed growl. He rolled over slightly to get closer to the remote, which now hung from its wire. But in doing so, a wave of dizziness engulfed him and the room began spinning.

Eventually, however, persistence paid off. Junkrat awkwardly griped the remote in his hand, triumphant.

But as Junkrat tried to turn on the TV, he found that his fingers would not cooperate with him. Junkrat gritted his teeth as he willed his fingers to press the On button, growing more upset with himself the more times he failed with this simple task. Why couldn’t he just turn the damn thing on?

Finally, Junkrat’s anger reached boiling point. He hurled the remote at the TV, smashing the screen to pieces.

A lump formed and tears welled up as the reality of the situation began to sink in. Junkrat trembled. His mind a chaotic mess of terrified thoughts and feelings he couldn’t begin to make sense of.

“Roadie?” he called out again.

But of course, Roadhog didn’t come.

Junkrat couldn’t blame him. After all, who would want to be with someone that had a broken brain? He couldn’t even talk properly anymore, or sit up by himself. He was nothing but weak and a burden now. It was probably for the best that they left him.

Tears spilled down Junkrat’s cheeks.

“Roadie!” he called out one last time, before he broke down sobbing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, sorry this one took so long


	21. I Live, I Die, I Live Again

The following morning, Roadhog, Mykie, and Trinket made their way through the hospital corridors towards Junkrat’s room. They hurried along as fast as they could, with Roadhog huffing and puffing as he hobbled with his cane. As eager as they all were to see Junkrat, after the events of yesterday, there was also a lot of apprehension. His behaviour had been so erratic and unpredictable. Even by Junkrat's standards. How would he behave this time?

"Hurry up, Papa!" Trinket called back to Roadhog, oblivious to his laboured breathing.

Roadhog ignored her, stopping to catch his breath.

"Don't worry, he's coming," Mykie reassured her.

After having caught his breath, Roadhog steadily caught up with his daughters.

They all soon found themselves outside the door to Junkrat's room. And Hog could immediately tell by the sheer silence that something was wrong. The only sounds that could be heard from the other side of the door, were the beeping and whirring of the machines connected to Junkrat. But as for Junkrat himself, there was nothing.

And when Roadhog opened the door, he soon found out why.

Junkrat lay in his hospital bed, gazing up at the ceiling. His eyes were vacant, as if the life had been completely drained out of him. He looked utterly defeated.

Roadhog immediately ushered the girls out of the room.

"Here," he said, handing them money for the hospital cafe. "Go get yourselves a drink."

Mykie and Trinket opened their mouths to protest, but Roadhog quickly shut them down with a stern look.

"Just for an hour," he reassured.

"Okay, Papa," said Trinket, clearly disappointed.

Once the girls had left, Roadhog went back into Junkrat's room. He tentatively approached him, stopping by his bedside. He stared at Rat, trying to work out what was wrong. Had Junkrat deteriorated? Was he a vegetable now? Junkrat breifly glanced at him, before looking back up at the ceiling. He had noticed him at least. That was good.

Roadhog continued to stare at Junkrat, not saying anything. Likewise, Junkrat continued to stare up at the ceiling, only occasionally glancing at Roadhog. This silence dragged on for what felt like hours, with Roadhog silently goading Junkrat to say _something_. Eventually, it became obvious that body language alone wouldn't make Junkrat talk.

Sighing, Roadhog took a chair from the corner and sat down.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice soft yet concerned.

Much like how he would talk to Trinket.

Junkrat said nothing.

"Rat?"

For a moment, he thought Rat wouldn't answer. All he did was continue to stare up at the ceiling.

"... The... uh, TV... broke," Junkrat slurred, finally speaking.

Roadhog looked towards the now cracked TV, the remote hanging from its wire.

"How come?" asked Roadhog.

"... Oh... ya know," Junkrat shruged. "Don't, er... don't w- wanna... be... the, only... broken... thing... in the... er, room... I... I guess."

"Go on," said Roadhog, giving a slight nod.

"I, just... I can't... my mine's, don't... ya know... wires."

Junkrat attempted to speak, but the right words wouldn't come to him. Try as he might, all that came out was gibberish with long pauses inbetween. His agitation grew the more he tripped and fumbled with his words. But eventually, he just couldn't take it any more.

"AARGH!" Junkrat thumped his hospital bed. "Me, brain's... all kinds, of... fucked up!"

Rat's lips quivered, and his face contoured. Screwing tight into what looked like despair, shame, or both.

Then the tears came.

"I, can't... do, nothing... no more!" he sobbed. "Everyone... treats me... like a, uh... like a... like a... baby, yeah! Everyone, treats me... like a, fucking... baby, now!"

Junkrat turned away from Roadhog in shame, not able to hold back any longer. The floodgates opened and he let out the most heart-wrenching wail.

"Why, Roadie?" he bewailed. "Why? Why did, ya... let, them... save... _mm_me? Why, didn't... ya... let, me... just... kark it?"

Junkrat's cries wracked his whole body. The rest of his words so slurred as to be unintelligible.

He turned to Roadhog, gazing up at him like a frightened little boy.

Roadhog just sat there in silence, listening to his pitiful blubbering. He wanted so desperately to tell Junkrat that everything would be alright. That all he needed was one on Mercy's latest potions, or Baptiste's latest inventions to fix him. But he couldn't. The neurologist had been crystal clear, that this was something that he would have for the rest of his life. It would never really go away. And he knew it.

But there was one thing he could do.

Steadily, Roadhog stood. Leaning on his cane with one hand, he used the other to bring Junkrat into a soothing hug. Junkrat buried his head in Hog's chest, continuing to weep. Roadhog held onto him tight. Comforting Junkrat the only way he knew how.

...

Eventually, Junkrat's crying turned into whimpering and sniffles. Roadhog ignored the pain in his hand using the cane for support, despite having stood there for what felt like hours.

Roadhog's eyes wondered to the table at the edge of Junkrat's bed. There, he spotted a large tube of bed-bath wipes.

It was then he got an idea.

Sitting Junkrat up in bed, Roadhog took the tube of wipes. He took one out, and wiped away the tears from his face. Then his neck, his chest, and his arms.

Junkrat didn't so much as protest. He simply let Hog wipe him down.

It was then Roadhog realised Junkrat's face and scalp felt strangely coarse to the touch. Then it dawned on him. And upon closer inspection, his suspicions were confirmed. It wasn't noticeable unless you really looked. But Roadhog could just make out the little sprouts of new hairs growing.

Junkrat's hair was growing back!

Roadhog immediately called for a nurse to bring a shaving kit. Reluctant though she was, the nurse brought one from the hospital shop.

Once paid for, Hog waisted no time in opening the kit and applying the shaving cream to Junkrat's face. Again, Junkrat let him do it. Roadhog took out the razor, making sure he was as gentle as he could be when shaving Junkrat's face. After he was done, Roadhog finished by wiping Rat down a final time.

He looked down at Junkrat, who had gone back to having a thousand yard stare.

Roadhog couldn't stand it anymore. He took Junkrat's cheeks and cupped them in his large hands. Not even that made Junkrat snap out of it. Hog couldn't lie to him, and he wouldn't. He wouldn't give him false hope. But that didn't mean he couldn't give him no hope at all.

"Things will get better from here," he said. "I promise."

Junkrat gazed up at him in astonishment. Fresh tears started falling. But instead of them being tears of despair and hopelessness, they were tears of love and hope. And through them, a smile crept across Junkrat's face.

...

The next day, Junkrat was deemed fit enough to be completely taken off life support. Though the Hickman line in his neck and the feeding tube in his nose remained, they were no longer attached to anything. They would be removed in a day or so.

Junkrat was almost relieved to be near the end. Almost. On the one hand, he couldn’t wait to be free from hospital and go home. But on the other hand, he didn't feel ready. The future was now just as uncertain as when he first started his arduous journey. Perhaps even more so. Junkrat had expected that after the treatment, things would go back to normal. That he would be his old self again, blowing things up and causing mayhem. He hadn't expected to be changed by it. Irreversibly so.

...

Junkrat, Roadhog, and Mykie were listening to another one of Trinket's stories. It was an old one called Guess How Much I Love You, where two hares tried to out do one another in how much each loved the other. Trinket's reading had improved a lot in the many weeks she had been reading to Junkrat. Her narration was less halting and more fluid. It certainly helped to lift the anguish in the room.

Their story time session was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" Roadhog asked, annoyed.

The door opened to reveal a woman carrying a heavy looking bag with her.

"Hey, Jamison!" she greeted cheerfully, hauling her bag behind her.

Everyone, including Junkrat, eyed her with confusion.

"Oh wow!" the woman said, spotting Roadhog and the girls. "I didn't realise you had your family with you. Hi there!"

"Who... Who're you?" asked Junkrat.

"Oh! Don't you remember?" the woman said. "I'm Suzie. I'm your Speech Pathologist."

Junkrat eyed her suspiciously. He had no recollection of ever seeing this woman. Then again, his memory seemed to have even more holes in it than before.

"What's a Speech Pathologist?" asked Trinket.

"A Speach pathologist, is someone who helps people who, for various reasons, have trouble talking to people," explained Suzie. "I'll be helping your... Dad is it?"

"Yeah," said Trinket.

"Right," said Suzie. "I'll be helping your Dad learn to talk again."

"Oh," said Trinket, somewhat informed.

"How will you do that?" asked Mykie.

"Well, I assessed your Dad yesterday to see what areas of speech he struggles with," said Suzie. "And I'm hoping to start with the first round of therapy today."

She turned to Junkrat.

"Jamison, could you sit up for me?"

With great effort, Junkrat reluctantly obeyed.

"Okay," said Suzie, pulling over the overbed table so it was up to Junkrat's chest. "How about we play a little game?"

Junkrat glared back at Suzie, his expression full of cynicism.

“Fat... load-a, good... that’ll do,” Junkrat snarled.

"You'll be surprised," Suzie said, smiling.

Then one by one, she began laying out cards on the table. Some with pictures on them, and others with a single word.

"Okay, Jamison," said Suzie. "Can you match the words with the pictures?"

Junkrat looked at the Speech Pathologist with a raised eyebrow.

"Ya... kiddin', me?... A, fuckin' rugrat... could, do this."

"I know it seems silly," she said, undeterred. "But this is to help you rebuild your speech and memory skills."

Rolling his eyes, Junkrat turned his attention to the cards.

Okay, he thought. So this one went... here? Wait, no. It must be... no wait, that’s wrong. Damnit! He couldn’t figure it out. He was trying so hard, but he couldn’t connect anything. Frustration began to take hold.

"Take as much time as you need to think about it," advised Suzie.

Junkrat glared at her in response.

It took a lot longer than what he had anticipated. But eventually, Junkrat managed to match the cards on his own.

Junkrat looked up at the Speech Pathologist, triumphant.

"Great!" said Suzie. "Now, I'm going to give you a list of words to remember. And I want you to repeat them back to me."

Junkrat grumbled. But after taking a while at word association, he supposed he could humour her.

"Nah, yeah... I, suppose," he said.

"Okay, so: Tomato, Birdcage, Chair, Pencil, Donkey, Soap, Telephone, Path, Bed, Doughnut. Can you repeat what I just said?"

“Uhhhhhh...to- tomato... uh... b- chair ...ugh, bed... uh..."

Junkrat was wracking his brain at this point.

"Argh! Wha'... wha' was...tha', word again? The, thing that's... like a, horse. What... is, it? AARGH!"

"Can I help?" asked Trinket.

"Sadly no," said Suzie. "This is something your Dad has to do himself."

...

As the days went by, Junkrat's immune system began to grow stronger. The doctors removed his Hickman line, leaving a scar where it once was. They also started allowing him to leave his room for short bursts. Albeit with a face mask on. Roadhog would often take him out in a wheelchair for a short stroll around the hospital grounds. Something Junkrat would have found boring weeks ago, but these days were a real breath of fresh air for him.

Once his immune system was strong enough, Junkrat was transferred from Royal Perth Hospital to Attadale Rehabilitation Hospital where he would receive continued therapy. It was there, he was reunited with his prosthetics. To say Junkrat was overjoyed to have his own arm and leg back was an understatement. He practically cried when he put them on.

The day after settling in, Junkrat started his many therapies. They all had different names such as Cognitive, Occupational, Speech and Language, and Physical therapy. And they were all hard in their own right. The physical therapy for example, required Junkrat to walk from one end of the room to the other with the support of walking bars and the therapist. Seemed simple enough, Rat had thought. That was, until he stood up and began feeling dizzy. His sense of balance was very poor, meaning he needed assistance. Simply to walk. This, of course, frustrated Junkrat to no end. Not being able to walk without help was humiliating.

But slowly, ever so slowly, Junkrat needed less and less help from the therapist. He soon graduated from the walking bar to a walking frame. And as he did so, his confidence in himself grew as well.

As the weeks turned to months, Junkrat got better and better at the matching games. His ability to remember the words he would be asked to repeat also improved. And with it all, his speech started to become less slurred and more coherent.

It could only go up from here, Junkrat thought. And as he did so, his confidence in himself grew ever more stronger.

...

Roadhog was nervous.

Not for himself, but for how Junkrat would react. He was pretty excitable, so he had no idea how this would go. He needed to wait for the perfect moment.

Junkrat was practicing his gait exercises, trying to keep his balance while walking in a straight line unaided. Hog decided that when his back was turned would be when he would do it.

Junkrat was approaching the end of the room. His arms raised either side of him to keep his balance. Just a few more steps now. Junkrat got to the end of the room. He leaned on the wall to catch his breath. Gait exercises were harder than they looked.

"Ready for just one more?" the physical therapist asked.

"Aw, mate. Do I 'ave ta?" Junkrat whined.

"C'mon, Jamison. You're doing great!" the therapist said. "But just see if you can give me one more."

Junkrat sighed. He was tired after all that walking and balancing act. He could practically join a circus at this rate.

"Alright," he said, obviously reluctant.

Junkrat turned around to walk to the other end of the room. And nearly fell over backwards when he saw Roadhog right in front of him.

"Ah, _Roadie!_" he shrieked. "Ya... bloody nearly... knocked me, over... ya, heifer!"

Roadhog guessed it was now or never.

Junkrat watched as Roadhog, with the help of his cane, got down on one knee and took out a small box from his back pocket. Opening it revealed a diamond ring inside. Roadhog presented it to Junkrat.

Junkrat just stared at the ring in confusion.

"What's this? We already, 'ave tones of rings," said Junkrat.

"This one is special," said Roadhog.

"How?" asked Junkrat.

"It's an engagement ring," said Roadhog.

"What for?" asked Junkrat, still oblivious.

"Jamie," said Roadhog. "Will you marry me?"

Junkrat just stood there, wide-eyed.

“I... I... well, I...I mean...oh God. I, mean..." he said, flustered.

For once, Junkrat was lost for words. He couldn't believe what was happening. Was this real? 

Junkrat broke into fits of giggles.

"Jamie," said Roadhog, bringing Junkrat out of his thoughts. "Will you?"

"Will, I... what?" Rat giggled.

"Marry me," Roadhog repeated, almost sounding desperate this time.

Junkrat let out another round of cackles before giving his answer.

"Hehehe... yeah."


	22. In Sickness And In Health

Junkrat gulped as the large ornate doors loomed before him.

Wearing a disheveled shirt, the bow tie and suspenders were the only fancy articles he had. He looked like a best man post-drinks. It wasn’t proper in the least. But then again, when did he ever give a shit about what’s proper?

To say Junkrat was nervous was an understatement.

Sweat formed on his brow despite the cool air. His hands trembled as he gripped the walking-frame tight, his left knuckle turning white in the process. His jaw was clenched, his teeth grinding together. And he was close to hyperventilating.

The only thing stopping him from turning and running, or rather hobbling the other way, was the fact that Mercy was by his side.

"Don't worry," she cooed. "Everything will be fine. No need to be nervous."

"What d'ya mean?" Junkrat scoffed, tensely. "Me, nervous? I cheated death _and_ survived the Queen’s worst. Like _I_ have a reason to be afraid. H-heh..."

“You’ve been through a lot,” Mercy said straightening his bowtie and shirt collar. “It makes sense you’d be apprehensive. Just take a deep breath.”

Junkrat did as he was told. Strangely enough, he did feel a little better.

"Now, let's make you look a little more presentable," said Mercy, helping Junkrat to tuck in his shirt.

Suddenly, loud music began blaring from behind the doors.

"Right!" said Mercy. "That's our cue."

The huge doors swung open, revealing a chapel room on the other side. On each side in the rows of pews, the human members of Overwatch were seated. They all turned to see Mercy and Junkrat hovering in the doorway.

Junkrat swallowed more saliva.

Sensing his nervousness, Mercy took Junkrat's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Then taking his arm in her's, and with Junkrat supported by a walking frame, they both began to walk down the isle.

It was then, Junkrat saw Roadhog and the girls for the first time. Both girls were decked out in gorgeous bridesmaids dresses. But it was Roadhog that Junkrat really noticed. He was obviously much more smarter looking that Rat was. His shirt wasn't disheveled for one thing. Though, he still insisted on wearing his mask.

Roadhog adjusted his bowtie. The shirt was a bit tight, but he didn’t mind. Then he saw him. Junkrat, walking up the aisle towards him, with Mercy in tow. Roadhog watched him with awe. Rat's outfit was less than ideal, but Hog wouldn’t have it any other way.

As Junkrat neared the end of the isle, his anxiety grew with each step. He so desperately wanted to turn around and head back the other way. Maybe he could do this some other time, he thought.

But Mercy's arm was firmly linked with his, urging him on.

Finally, Junkrat reached the altar and took his place by Roadhog.

Junkrat seemed stiff. Despite that, he was still smiling. His cheeks slightly pink.

Roadhog chuckled lightly.

"You look handsome," he said.

All Junkrat could do was go red, and giggle like a giddy schoolgirl.

"Welcome everyone!" the Officiant greeted. "Friends, family, and loved ones. We are gathered here today to celebrate and witness the wedding of Jamison and Mako. You have all come here share in this commitment they will make to one another, and to offer your love and support as they start married life together, surrounded by friends and loved ones-"

"Yeah yeah," Junkrat interrupted, agitated. "Could ya skip a little?"

"... So welcome one and all, and thank you for being here," the Officiant finished. "But before we continue..."

Junkrat groaned as the Officiant droned on, and on, and on, and on about how challenging yet rewarding marriage was. Honestly, this Officiant seemed to want to drag this whole thing out.

Then D.va stepped up to the altar to read a passage.

"Where must we go? We who wander the wasteland in search for our better selves?"

Junkrat urged her to hurry up.

"Well I'll tell ya!" said D.va. "The answer is, right here!"

Then finally, _finally_, Junkrat and Roadhog were asked to join hands. Junkrat started giggling again, apprehension creeping back in.

"We are now at the point in your ceremony where the both of you say your vows to one another," the Officiant said. "There is nothing more tender, or more sacred, than the vows you will make to each other. Should you keep to these vows, it won't be because of religious or civic laws, but because of the deep love you have for one another. Now, please read the vows you've written to each other. Jamison?"

Junkrat snapped out of his nervous giggling.

"Y-yeah?" he stammered.

"Would you like to begin your vows?" the Officiant asked.

"O-oh!" Rat realised. "Yeah, sure!"

Junkrat dug out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

"Uh... R-Roadie?" he said. "Yer me best mate. You saved me arse when ya beat the shit out of the those cunts back in Junkertown."

An akward chuckle came from the members of Overwatch.

"Sure, we got kicked out," Junkrat continued. "But then we went all over the world, robbing banks, blowing shit up, causing mayhem. Oh! And sticking it to the suits! Then we try and get back into Junkertown. Which didn't work out too well, come to think of it. So we then go and blow up and rob even_ more_ shit. Then I find out I'm up the duff, and we both end up getting nabbed by the cops. Then we Join Overwatch. And then Trinket and Mykie come along! Though, it wasn't all easy. Ya ever pushed two rugrats out of your crotch? Fucking hurts, that. Wouldn't recommend."

Mykie facepalmed in embarrassment.

Junkrat went silent for a second, as if he was bracing himself.

"We had a great time. Sure, raising kids ain't easy. But it was great, and we were a team. Then... then I got diagnosed with cancer."

Junkrat swallowed a lump in his throat.

“And... and no matter how much of a cunt I was towards you and the kids, ya... ya didn't leave me. Even when shit went to hell, that didn't stop ya... Shows ya really care about me."

Everyone listened with anticipation.

"I... I fucking... love ya, mate," Junkrat said. "And... I wanna, spend the rest of me life with ya."

His words were met with a round of applause.

Junkrat looked to Roadhog, who gave him the thumbs up. Junkrat let out a sigh of relief.

Roadhog then took out his vows to read to Junkrat.

"Jamie," he began. "You've been a real pain in the ass since we've met. I've lost count how many times I've had to get you out of trouble... But I would do it again, and continue to do it many times over. Because, you mean that much to me."

Junkrat gazed at him in astonishment. Did he really mean what he just said?

"May I have the rings, please?" asked the Officiant.

"Trinket, the rings," Mykie whispered.

"Oh!" Trinket realised, handing them over to the Officiant.

The Officiant then gave a ring to Roadhog, who then took Junkrat's left hand.

"I give you this ring as my gift to you," said Roadhog, slipping the ring on Rat's finger. "Wear it, think of me, and know that I love you."

Junkrat stared at the ring in awe. It was a simple gold band. But to Junkrat, it was worth far more than its weight in gold.

"Jamison."

Junkrat was again, snapped out of his thoughts.

The Officiant handed Junkrat Roadhog's ring. Junkrat's hand shook as he presented it to Hog. Suddenly, the ring sprung out of Junkrat's fingers. Junkrat's hands grasped at the air, as the ring began to fall to the floor. Luckily though, Roadhog managed to catch it before it hit the ground.

Hog then handed it back to a sheepish Junkrat, who then took his hand in his.

"I... I give, ya... this...this... ring, as me... gift, to ya," he stammered, his words slurring a little. "W-wear it... think, of me... and, and know that... that... that... that, I love ya."

He then shakily slipped the ring on Roadhog's finger.

"Will you, Mako Rutledge, take Jamison Fawkes to be your husband?" asked the Officiant.

"Yes," answered Roadhog.

"Will you, Jamison Fawkes, take Mako Rutledge to be your husband?" the Officiant asked.

Junkrat continued to gaze at Roadhog, too distracted to answer.

"Jamison?"

"W-what?" said Junkrat, snapping out of his trance.

"Will you take Mako Rutledge to be your husband?"

"Oh, yeah-yeah-yeah!" Junkrat answered, eagerly.

"Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you both married! You may kiss."

Roadhog lifted his mask up and both his and Rat's lips met.

The entire room gave a round of applause.

...

The reception, as Junkrat had put it, was a blast.

All throughout, there was music (courtesy of Lúcio), dancing, drinking, and the food was all take aways. And Junkrat was looking forward to the fireworks later. Needles to say, everyone was having a good time.

Mykie and Trinket were dancing together when the newest Overwatch hopeful, and former Junker, Lucas, came up to them. Trinket was the first to see him, and pointed him out to Mykie. She turned around to see him leaning casually on the near by table, gazing in her direction.

"Enjoying the party so far?" he asked.

"Aren't you?" said Mykie.

"Mostly the food," Lucas answered. "I've never _seen_ so much grub in one place! Everyone's dressed all fancy as well. Though your outfit seems to be the fanciest of the lot."

"Oh, uh, thanks," said Mykie, blushing from the compliment.

"You wanna get a drink?" asked Lucas.

"Sure!" said Mykie, starting to be taken in by him. "Trinket, you wanna come?"

"Oh, um... okay!" said Trinket, much to Lucas' disappointment.

Junkrat and Roadhog were having a great time, oblivious to Mykie's new found friendship with Lucas. Junkrat was especially having a good time, dancing the night away. Eagerly awaiting the fireworks.

That was when the music suddenly stopped.

Everyone turned towards Lúcio, a mixture of confusion and annoyance.

"Oi!" Junkrat yelled. "Turn the music back on, will ya!"

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Lúcio's voice blared over the speakers. "There's gonna be a couple's dance with just the grooms. So I ask that everyone else clear the dancefloor!"

Though still confused, everyone did as they were told. Everyone fell back to the sides of the room, leaving Junkrat and Roadhog alone on the dancefloor together.

The music played once again. But this time, it was slower and more serene.

Then the crowd started chanting.

"Dance! Dance! Dance!" they said.

"What're we supposed to do?" asked Junkrat, looking to Roadhog.

"You heard them," said Roadhog, taking Junkrat in his arms and began swaying.

Rat joined in instantly, swaying with him.

As they got into it, Junkrat leaned further into Roadhog. As far as they were concerned, all that existed was each other. Everything else had faded away.

Suddenly, Junkrat stumbled. But Roadhog quickly caught him before he could fall.

Hog then proceeded to lift Rat up and twirl him around bridal style.

Junkrat let out the most joyus laughter. In that moment, what he felt was pure bliss.

Then as if time itself was reversing, the years themselves faded away as they both began to feel young again.

Junkrat leaned his head into Roadhog's chest.

Roadhog then lifted up his mask so that both Junkers could kiss.

Outside, fireworks went off.


	23. Remission Accomplished!

"Hello, there! Jamison, Mako, please sit down," Mercy greeted, as Junkrat and Roadhog entered her office.

"G'day, Doc!" Junkrat said, returning the greeting. "Ya gonna tell us why we're here then?"

He hobbled up to Mercy's desk, supported by a cane similar to Roadhog's.

"Sit down first, and I'll tell you," said Mercy.

Junkrat and Roadhog sat down.

"First of all," said Mercy. "I want to ask, how are you Jamison-"

"Could ya skip to what it is ya wanna tell us that's oh so important?" Junkrat cut in.

Mercy had a huge grin on her face.

Rat raised an eyebrow.

"I have some good news to tell you," Mercy said.

"Go on," said Roadhog, just as eager to know.

Mercy beamed from ear to ear.

"The results of Jamison's test have just come through," she said, her smile growing bigger. "And I can confirm that Jamison is in full remission, and doesn't need any further treatment."

"Wait. So, I don't have cancer anymore?" asked Junkrat.

"As of now," said Mercy. "There are currently no detectable signs of the disease."

Junkrat and Roadhog stared on in stunned silence. So many thoughts and emotions running through their head.

Junkrat was free of cancer.

Junkrat was no longer in danger of dying.

Junkrat could go back to living his life again.

So _why_ wasn't Junkrat overjoyed at this news?

Reminding himself how he _should_ be feeling, Junkrat let out an enthusiastic cheer.

"Did ya hear that, Roadie?" he said, feigning happiness. "I'm cancer free!"

However, Junkrat's cheering and hooting wasn't able to change how he really felt. Sure, the cancer was gone, and the treatment was over. Which was a relief. But he was now also weakened due to having developed pneumonia and sepsis. And would have many long-term health problems as a result. Not to mention, he could no longer do many of the things he took for granted just a few months ago. And what if the cancer came back? Could that happen? The future was just so uncertain.

"Is he cured?" asked Roadhog, bringing Junkrat out of his thoughts.

"Unfortunately no," said Mercy. "Remission isn't the same as cured. There is always the possibility of the cancer coming back, unfortunately. Which means Jamison will need follow-up care for the foreseeable future."

Well, that confirms one fear, Junkrat thought.

"Do either of you have any other questions?" asked Mercy.

"When can I blow shit up again?" asked Junkrat.

"As in, when will your life go back to the way it was?" Mercy clarified.

"Yeah!" said Junkrat.

"I'm, not sure," she said. "As long as you keep up with your rehabilitation, it's possible that you might be able to be functional again. But I can't make any guarantees. Until then, you will have to be on long-term sick pay."

Junkrat folded his arms in a huff at that.

She wasn't able to tell him. She knew she would have to eventually, but she just didn't have the heart to tell Junkrat that he would probably never be able to work with explosives for a _very_ long time. If ever.

"Do you have any other questions?" she asked, wanting to change the subject.

"Don't think so," said Junkrat. "You, Roadie?"

Roadhog shook his head.

"In that case," said Mercy. "You're free to go!"

"That's it?" asked Junkrat, confused.

"Yep!" Mercy confirmed. "I've said all I needed to."

"C'mon, Roadie!" said Junkrat, getting up. "I'm ready ta get outta here."

Roadhog steadily got up and followed Junkrat out of the door.

...

Outside in the waiting room, Trinket and Mykie sat waiting.

Suddenly the door opened, and Junkrat and Roadhog stepped out.

"Daddy! Papa!" exclaimed Trinket, getting up and rushing over to them.

"G'day, loves," said Junkrat, giving Trinket a hug.

"So, what did Angela say?" asked Mykie, following after Trinket.

Junkrat grinned at her.

"She said that your Dad is in remission," said Roadhog, his voice betraying his emotions.

"Is that good?" asked Trinket.

"It means, I don't have cancer no more!" Junkrat cheered.

Mykie and Trinket squealed with delight, before bringing Junkrat into a group hug.

"That's great! I'm so glad you're better now," said Mykie, squeezing her father tight. "Hey, we should celebrate!"

"Why not a race?" Roadhog suggested.

"Yeah!" Mykie agreed. "We could race around the base grounds!"

"Won't we get in trouble again?" asked Trinket.

"Oh, bugger the suits! They can give us all the tickets they bloody well want," said Junkrat, nonchalant.

"In that case, you ready to _lose_ again, Papa?" Mykie boasted.

"I wouldn't get cocky, little pig," challenged Roadhog.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to give thanks to the people who helped me write this fic, Moth/AusecoreJunkrat, Junks-Stuff, Lsdviii, & Tarraxacum. Thank you. Without all of you, I couldn't make this fic what it is, & I'm extreamly grateful for your help through this. Also, thank you to all the artists who made fanart of this story and the characters in it. Without you, this fic wouldn't be as well known as it is. And last but not least, thank you Dad, for inspiring me to make this fic. Though you're no longer here, my love for you will never fade. Rest in peace.

**Author's Note:**

> I dedicate this fic to my late father, who passed away in February 2019. He wasn't a perfect father, but nonetheless, he was a good man in the end. Rest in peace, Dad. I love you. I miss you.


End file.
